


Experiment #947

by Capster



Category: Original Work, Science Fiction - Fandom
Genre: Attempted Murder, Bullying, Crippled Character, Disability, Gen, Human Experimentation, Inspired by Ender's Game, Inspired by Ender's Shadow, Lesbian Character, Science Fiction, genetic mutation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 47
Words: 86,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9248468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capster/pseuds/Capster
Summary: Deep in an underground lab, a pair of scientists have succeeded in discovering a genetic mutation that enhances human intelligence. However, when one scientist, Dr. Levitsky, creates an experiment that surpasses all the others, conflict arises as the two scientists debate the fate of experiment 947. Is it worth the risk to keep him alive? Will the secrets behind his creation ever be revealed?





	1. Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The early years of 947's life.  
> Warning: mild bullying

A flashing light at the corner of the screen caught Dr. Levitsky's eye. He looked at the name and sighed, but why evade the inevitable. "Accept call".

"80,000 IUCs, that’s what your little whim has cost us, and all before it’s even out of the developmental chamber.”

"Nice to see you too."

"I don't think you fully comprehend the seriousness of the situation. Our entire financial cycle will be thrown out of balance if this continues."

“Genius doesn’t come cheap. You’ve said it a thousand times.”

“But there’s been no indication so far that this is a genius, and frankly we can’t afford to find out.”

“You mean, I presume, to say that there’s no evidence it will be any more of a genius than the others; they’re all brilliant, you know.”

“Stop trying to distract me. It won’t work.”

“It was a legitimate point. Even if my experiment doesn’t work it should be just as good as any of them.”

“Mentally, yes, but to get it to the same physical level its going to need at least one more fetal surgery and probably growth stimulation for its legs. Where do you propose we get the money for that?”

“Just think of all the money you’ve spent already. All wasted if you get rid of it now.”

“And what about all the money I’ll have to waste to keep the damn thing alive?”

“But—”

“When an experiment costs more than we can afford, we get rid of it. I thought I’d made that clear.”

“How can you expect success if you’re not willing to make sacrifices for it, if you’re too close-minded to try anything new?”

“So maybe I am close-minded, but at least I stop us from going bankrupt. Your sentimentality is costing us thousands. You want to keep it alive? Fine. But I’m not spending another unit on its behalf."

The screen went dark. Levitsky ran a weary hand through his hair. As much as he wanted to believe the experiment would succeed, science, fact, and years of experience told him the chances were slim. Yet he couldn’t just watch the boy die.

Levitsky's feet carried him down the long, bare hallways to the developmental sector. His fingers flew over the keypad by the department gate. He could've simply checked the health records of the developmental sector, but Levitsky was almost certain his computer was being monitored for any questionable activity. There was no explicit rule against checking an experiment of course, but it implied a personal attachment. That was completely out of the question.  
The security cameras swiveled their black, reflective eyes towards him. Despite the apparent emptiness of the room, dozens of tiny embryos lay within the darkened chambers that lined the walls, each carefully monitored by the hundreds of sensors. Only if sensors reported a disturbance of one of the fetuses would the general security recordings be checked—the recordings that showed Levitsky. He was, in effect, invisible.

His eyes scanned the numbers next to each chamber. 945, 946, 947. With the press of a button the chamber's circular window lit up to show experiment 947. Legs twisted and shrunken. A tiny smudged face peeking out from its oversized head. He would be frail, most likely unable to walk without aid if he could walk at all. The others would prey on him, without a doubt, make his life as miserable as it would be brief. He should kill it. Enter his code and give the command. It would be painless, the prick of a needle, then nothing. A strong man would do it. A merciful man would do it. Levitsky took a last look at the fetus and strode out.

* * *

The air was filled with piercing sounds, coming from all around. But one little boy remained silent. He had done it for a while, though, opening his mouth and screeching like the others, but nothing happened so he had stopped. The sounds must help them, must give them something. Why else would they make them?

So much noise. His ears began to hurt. He wished they would stop and somehow they did. All was quiet in his mind, peaceful, like sleep only he could see around him. The padded walls of his compartment on all sides and up above a soft bluish light. Suddenly a shadow passed over the light. Looming over him was a bristled shaggy head, not at all like his own smooth one. He wanted to see what it would feel like, to run his hand through the shagginess, but his arm wasn't long enough to span the distance and so chose not to expend the energy. The mouth of the strange head began to move. He wanted to hear, so he did. The sounds were nice. Soft and subtle, with intricacies beyond his comprehension. They told of a world beyond the screeching sounds and the simple chamber that was his world. He moved his own mouth, mimicking the movements of the face above him.

Three years later

947 watched through the glass window in front of him as 946 stood facing a bulb set in the wall. Suddenly it flashed with blue light. It seemed rather anticlimactic to 947 who had been expecting a procedure of some sort. However, it's effects on 946 were evident. His face froze in a distorted mask, fists clenching at his sides. 947 noted the rapid rise and fall of his chest. No doubt his pulse was racing.

Yet 947 felt nothing. Could there be a variable present which could only be observed from inside the room? Perhaps a sound combined with the light could cause the reaction he had observed. He had no choice but to wait and see.

A buzzer sounded and 947 positioned his crutches underneath his armpits and hobbled into the room. He stood facing the light fixture waiting when the thought crossed his mind. What if nothing happens? What if there is no additional stimulus? The light began to flash. 947 felt nothing. Why isn't it working? No. No time for that. But I can't just sit here. Not after seeing how it affected 946. He wasn't able to pin down the logic that was telling him to imitate what 946 did, but somehow he knew it was what he needed to do. He elevated his heart and respiratory rates. Mimicked 946's facial and bodily responses as best he could. The light turned off and the buzzer sounded. He exited the room. Whatever the test was, he hoped he passed.

* * *

 

"Well, would you believe it Payne, a perfectly normal response."

"Facts cannot be ignored, surprising as they may be. Though your statement was not precisely correct. There was an unusual delay in the response, however small."

"I can't imagine it would cause any problems."

"Probably not, but I'm sure you wouldn't object to a backup plan."

"No. Though I cannot see why it's necessary."

"If you object to the additional attention, we can eliminate the experiment altogether." 

"Four years of data, and still you refuse to accept success." 

“Success? From a scientific perspective, perhaps so. But we can’t fully succeed until we understand everything, until we know how it works and how to keep it under control.”

“So what do you suggest? We can’t just train it using pain like a dog.”

“Of course not. But what if we could develop a drug that would ensure we could control it.”

“And do what? Torture it?”

“If necessary. But I would be surprised if it was. After living all its life with the abilities you engineered, the sudden loss might be disorienting enough on its own.”

“Have you ever considered that this is all just in your own head?”

“What?”

“Your obsessive need to control the experiments on every level.”

“Psychoanalyze me to your heart’s content, Levitsky, but it won’t keep 947 alive.” 

The screen went dark. On Levitsky’s monitor an alert blinked. Termination of experiment #947 — 30 days. Levitsky stiffened. Payne wasn’t bluffing. 947 was scheduled for termination and only Payne’s override could stop it. 

Levitsky sat before his monitor, torn. It would be easier to hand the project over to someone else. But he knew the only way to ensure 947’s safety was to develop the drug himself, to minimize the risks 947 was exposed to. Plus, as much as he disliked the thought of doing the testing himself, the thought of someone else doing it was worse.  
Levitsky turned to his files on 947’s genetic design. Within a few hours he had a rough foundation to build on, the basics of how the drug would function. But already he could see how long the process of development would be. There were so many factors, so many things that could go wrong and no real way to anticipate them. It would take testing, repetition, a process of trial and error.

When the tests began a few weeks later, Levitsky conducted them remotely, maintaining contact with the subordinates conducting the trials. He would make adjustments and send the formulas back, waiting as they collected the results. It wasn't until a week into the testing that Levitsky visited the room himself.

He made his way through the halls, a strange uneasiness in his stomach. When he reached the medical sector, he was met with a small group of lab technicians and nurses, all full of questions. What was the drug for? Was it having the intended effect? How closely was Payne monitoring the procedures? Levitsky brushed them off with hurried assurances and opened the door to 947’s room.

His eyes flew over the scene, refusing to linger on any one thing. White-clad nurses and neurologists, a small body on a large bed, tubes trailing from its arms, strapped down at the wrists. It wasn’t crying or screaming, which didn’t make sense. Any child would be upset by the bright lights and sharp needles, the drug’s effects non-withstanding. Levitsky forced himself to concentrate, to focus his glances, and his gaze fell on 947’s face. At first it seemed no different, no particular signs of distress. If anything it seemed merely confused. But then Levitsky met 947’s eyes and he understood. 947 wasn’t calm, he was numb, past all forms of expression. His eyes weren’t worried, afraid, desperate. They were dead.

_I should have killed him four years ago. I should have done it before it would hurt him._

 

One Year Later  
  
"Today we are going to be solving systems of equations." 947 sat straight in his seat listening as the teacher explained today's mathematics lesson. She flipped a switch on her control board and the main screen of the classroom lit up.

5x + 3y = 11  
6y - 4x = 15

"Now I could just tell you how to do this of course. But I would prefer to let you work it out yourselves. Does anyone have an idea on how to begin?"  
947 pressed his response indicator immediately, and the class groaned. "Yes 947?"

"Isolate one variable in one of the equations and substitute the resulting expression for that variable in the second equation."

"Correct." She replied, a slight smile on her face. "Let's work this through now shall we?"

The teacher worked out the problem for them as the class took notes. 947 was uninterested. The idea was the exiting part. The rest, while necessary, was tedious.

Next, the teacher put a new problem on the board and told them to solve it as fast as they could and type in their responses when they were finished. 947 didn't want to hear. It was distracting. He didn't hear. No sounds, just his brain and the numbers. He typed in the answer and pressed submit. He watched the other experiments as they sat, fidgeting, scratching themselves, yawning. How hard it must be to concentrate with all of those distractions. Finally all the responses were in and the teacher read out their results. "First response in, 947 and... Correct." The class burst into sounds of frustration. 947 kept his face blank. Don't know what to do, so I won't do anything. "Second response, 926... Incorrect." A few boys snickered softly. "Third response, 933... Correct." 933 looked smug for a moment before scowling at the floor. "Fourth, 946... Correct." 947 looked to the desk next to him to see 946 smiling quietly. "And Fifth is 935... Correct." 935 looked around with a triumphant expression. When the lesson was over the class filed out. As 947 retrieved his crutches from the ground next to his desk, he watched the other boys, noticing as one, then two boys hurried to 935's side. Why did he attract them like that? He was clearly not the smartest of the group. There must be something helpful about it. Maybe I should just try. Can't be that difficult. He approached the nearest boy.

"Hello."

"What do you want?" 947 thought hard. The truth is I'm not sure what I want. I want whatever 935 is getting from those boys who are with him.

"I was wondering what you thought about today's lesson." What else could he talk about?

"Why would you care what I think? No. Never mind. What I really want to know is what you thought about the lesson."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that no one can ever tell what you're thinking. You never smile or frown or laugh or anything. It scares people, you know."

He can't control it like me? The sounds, the feelings? Oh. I knew more or less I suppose. When the blue light room didn't affect me I knew there was something different. But what happens if he knows. If the teachers know. The lab wouldn't keep me alive if they knew they couldn't control me.

"Smiling and laughing aren't very useful." The boy wasn't satisfied but 947 was afraid to say anything more. "Goodbye." He turned at the soonest opportunity, taking a different route back to the sleeping quarters. 

When he arrived at the quarters, 947 found a group of about 5 boys sitting on and around 935's bed. They were all laughing at something 935 had said.  
"That was a good one Clutch." One of the boys, 926, said between gasps. Clutch? Who was Clutch. He was number 935, not Clutch. 947 walked between the two rows of bunks on either side of the room. When he reached the clump of boys however, his supports came up against something. His inertia pushed him forwards and he found himself on the floor, his face smacking against the metal. He didn't want to feel the pain. He didn't feel it. Off. He heard the boys laughing.

"Wonder if we made him cry."

"No. Not him. He's got a face like stone."

"Come on Stoneface, just a little tear."

947 detangled his legs and pulled himself upright. He limped toward his bed as quickly as he could without once looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it :)  
> Comment to let me know what you think!


	2. Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 947 is confronted by a gang of other boys.  
> Warning: violence and bullying

3 years later  
  
947 watched as an unfamiliar man strode to the front of the classroom. Unlike the standard blue jumpsuits most instructors wore, this man's jumpsuit was black. He had a thin angular face and eyes alive with curiosity beneath thick brows. He surveyed the class briefly, his eyes resting for a moment on the crutches leaning against 947's chair. "I am Dr. Levitsky, co-owner and one of the chief engineers of this facility." 947 noticed a slight abnormality in his speech, as though the words didn't come quite naturally to his tongue. "I am here today to enlighten you as to why it is in your best interests to succeed here." Levitsky began to pace back and forth in front of the class. "There is a world outside this place, a world in which all of you will be highly valued. However, only the best of you may be allowed to leave as your performance shall reflect on the proficiency of myself and my coworkers. How many of you are there in this unit may I ask?" He looked around the classroom expectantly. It was a silly question to ask and 947 had no intention of answering it, but at the top level of seats at the back of a classroom a green response indicator shone. "Yes?" Doctor Levitsky asked.

"Twenty-five" a boy's voice called out.

947 recognized its tremulous tone as coming from 926. Only he would volunteer for that sort of question. 926 was one of the least intelligent of their unit, but always eager to get the teachers' attention. The strategy was useless of course. Effort was meaningless here, only merit was rewarded. However Dr. Levitsky's mouth twisted in amusement and he replied, "Correct"

"Now out of the 25 students in a unit, can you guess how many of you are going to be progressing after your education is complete?" The boys sat in silence. They had never been told to guess, only to learn and to know. No one, not even 926 was willing to start calling out numbers. 947 pressed his response button, and Levitsky immediately turned his way. "You have a guess for me 947?" he said walking over to stand in front of his desk in the first row.

"When the integer x represents the number of experiments in a unit that progress, x between twenty-five and zero, including both end points."

The man's gaze seemed to sharpen. "Well 947, while I cannot deny the accuracy of that statement, I can give a much more precise answer." He looked around the room at the other students. "Five."

The class sat in silence. 947 observed the shock and worry on the faces of his classmates, but kept his own blank. Best not to show anything. Not until I know the most useful thing to show.

"Starting tomorrow we will be administering a series of weekly tests to evaluate your intellectual abilities. I trust you will all take these tests seriously, knowing the effect they may have on your futures." The warning was unnecessary.

"Class dismissed for today. I suggest, however, that you use this extra time to prepare yourselves for tomorrow's examination. You may go." The classroom burst into chaos as the boys logged out of their workstations chattering over their atypical morning. 947 methodically closed all his programs and rose from his chair positioning the metal supports firmly under his arms. When he had made his way up half the stairs, the rest of the class had already gone and he could feel Levitsky's eyes on his back as he clambered up at a painstakingly slow pace.

 

947 reached the door which slid open. He walked through hurriedly, eager to escape into the hallway. He found the halls already empty, the boys having dispersed to the group study rooms, physical maintenance room, or wherever else they congregated. 947 made his way back to the sleeping quarters, where he could be almost sure he would be alone, no one to watch as he turned off the sounds, feelings, until there was nothing but thought. 

Two hours later, he turned everything back on, tucking his study tablet into it’s shelf, and headed to the physical maintenance room for daily exercise. He pressed his ID plaque to the door panel, logging himself into the program. He made his way through the groups of boys clumped throughout the room to the group of machines reserved for his use during this hour. At first, they had made him focus on his legs, attempting to strengthen the muscles so they might hold weight, but after a few years, it was clear that there would be no improvement. So 947 put his crutches to the side and spent the required hour strengthening his back, his shoulders. The room was loud, bright, voices bouncing around the walls, so 947 turned the sound off, the brightness, the burning in his muscles. In his mind he imagined how they might look, muscles and tendons pulling on bone, twisting, extending, stretching, all the while constantly supplied with oxygen through a maze of arteries. It was endlessly complex and 947 was lost in it. 

His hour was up, and 947 looked around him, reaching to the floor for his crutches. They were gone. As he sat back up, the end of his crutch rushed into his view, waved in front of his face. 947 surveyed the room, but found it empty except for a group of around seven boys who stood around his machine, two of them leaning casually on his crutches.

He surveyed the group looking for a factor that might've united them. He had never previously noted any social bond between these boys. Of course. All of them were at the bottom of the class, a definite similarity. It was clear who the leader was though. The group looked to a tall boy with bushy eyebrows that cast his eyes into shadow. 935 officially, but most called him Clutch. It was obvious to 947 why he was leading the group. He was smart enough to command respect but painfully aware that it wasn't enough. 

947 swung his legs over the side of the machine, and carefully pushed himself to his feet. He clung to the back of the machine’s seat, letting it take most of his weight of his shaking legs. One of the boys jabbed a crutch out at 947, hitting him in the stomach. 947 didn’t grab for it, he would never be able to pull it out of the boy’s grip. Keep my face blank. That I can control. The others laughed. 935 reached out a hand palm up, and the boy handed the crutch to him. 935 tossed it lightly into the air, feeling its weight. "So, looking forward to busting out of here while the rest of us are stuck rotting away in this hole?"

"I cannot anticipate a future that is at present uncertain."

"Brilliant analysis, Stoneface. I'd love to further examine the situation, but I think this exchange would be better conducted somewhere a little more private, don't you agree?" The boys half pushed half dragged him towards an empty classroom. 947 stared down the steep stairs to the space where the teacher's desk stood. 935 walked right up to him searching his face for signs of fear, but found none and 947 could see the bitterness in his eyes. It doesn't matter. There is nothing he can do to me. Nothing can be worse than the needle bed... For a moment his mind slipped into the glaring white sharpness of the memory. No. No. Stop it, stop it now. He shook himself out of the past but couldn't repress a shudder. 935 saw it and his face looked triumphant. "I'm going to score better on this test than you Stoney. You know why?" 935 paused. Come on. You don't really think I'm going to ask. "I asked you a question, Stoneface." He pressed his forearm into 947's cheek. Dragging the sharp edge of his ID plaque into his flesh. 947 didn't want to feel it. He didn't. He smiled to himself as blood trailed down his jaw. He thinks he can win. He thinks he can hurt me. "Can't you figure this one out?" Ignore him, just ignore him. "Not so smart after all Stoney." You wish. "Well I'll tell you then. Because you're going to let me." He gave 947 a push and his legs collapsed. 926 darted forward and snatched up his other crutch and handed it dutifully to 935. 947 slowly rose, leaning on the desk nearby for support. "I hope you'll consider my little offer 947. We wouldn't want any unfortunate accidents to occur, would we?" He approached 947, enjoying the way he towered over the crippled boy's hunched figure. Once more 947 saw the taller boy's eyes search his face. Can't let him see I'm scared. Then he wins. He met 935's gaze, his face a mask of stolidness. 947 found himself staring straight into Clutch's eyes for the first time and was startled by what he saw there. None of the confidence he had portrayed. Only fear. Of course he was scared. Here he is the strong one, but when it really counts, he knows I will win.

Suddenly 947 felt a breathtaking impact on his stomach. Then he was tumbling. Head banging on the steps, limbs smacking against table legs, until finally, he reached the bottom. His head pounded and when he reached up to touch it, he felt a sickening warmth spreading itself over his fingers. Cut scalp. Possible concussion. Bruised ribs. Distal radius fracture. He looked up at the semi-circle of raised seats surrounding him, and through his blurred vision could just make out his crutches at the top level of seats. Slowly, he began to drag himself across the floor. Nerves all over his body screamed in protest but he silenced them, refusing to acknowledge their distress. His hands grasped the legs of desks on either side of the aisle and pulled his battered body over the first step. His arms shook with the effort and he was forced to rest a moment before taking the next step. The sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears. He flung out his arms once more but his hands were shaking too hard to keep their hold on the chair legs. For a moment he allowed the pain to make itself known. Sensations rushed at him cramming themselves into his brain until his head felt ready to explode. Then nothing.

* * *

The harsh alert tone nagged at Levitsky, demanding to be addressed. He was tired of listening to reports of every damn abnormality just because security knew better than to bother Payne. This wasn't just an experiment, it was a society, and in social relations, abnormality was normal. Of course, it was unfair to blame the security officers for their stupidity. They had no way to distinguish the everyday changes from those occurrences that could have a substantial effect on the experiments. But to ignore the call was to run the risk of missing something critical, so he accepted.

"Dr. Levitsky....I thought you might want to see this."

Levitsky sighed inwardly. They always said that. As though their thoughts might have some connection to reality.  
He nodded to the officer and resigned himself to another meaningless squabble. On the screen he saw a group of experiments hanging back in the hallway after class. He had seen groups of them together but this one was unusually large. He heard to signature thump of 947's footsteps coming down the hall. Levitsky sat straight up in his chair. He watched as the others swarmed around him, pulling away one crutch. One walked up to stand in his face.

"Pause," Levitsky ordered. "Identification on the experiment speaking."

"Experiment #935. Currently ranked #13 in the unit."

"Continue." He would keep an eye on that one. Already he could sense where this was going.  
They dragged 947 into a classroom. Before the officer switched the footage to the classroom surveillance camera, he called, "Stop."

"But..."

"Yes officer?"

"You haven't even viewed the part that I gave the alert for"

"I've seen the footage already. It's been taken care of." He pressed a button and the screen went dark.

Levitsky stood abruptly and strode out the door and into the halls headed for classroom 24. It was against every regulation in place as he was well aware, having written many of them. Still he walked on, trying desperately to calm his churning stomach. Who do you think you are Fyodor? Some kind of hero dashing off to the rescue? This delusional behavior can't be hidden forever.  
But suddenly it didn't matter because the door to the teachers' platform was staring him in the face. He shouldn't. He should simply call security and let them deal with it. It wasn't his job. It wasn't allowed. He pushed open the door.  
Bloodstains on the floor. Blood pounding in his ears. But where was the boy? Levitsky looked wildly around before finally seeing him. Lying sprawled out halfway up the stairs, a dark trail smeared along his path. Levitsky climbed, trying to control his pace, but the rusty smell of blood was thick in his nose. He put two fingers on the boy's neck. Still alive. But what now? This was not Levitsky's battle, and to show any sort of concern would destroy everything they had built. Every rule they had created to protect themselves. He looked up the stairs to where two crutches dangled over the edge of the last stair, an insurmountable distance away. He slid his arms beneath the frail form of the boy's body. He was surprisingly light, too fragile, too young to face this world alone. He laid him gently next to his supports. From here on, you are on your own.

* * *

947 lifted his head and was disoriented to see that he was at the top of the stairs. How did he get there? He couldn't remember climbing to the top. In fact he remembered the exact stair he had reached before passing out. It was the 11th, the 11th out of 20. His body ached but the mystery at hand was far more interesting. He looked down at the trail of smeared blood he had left on the staircase. Sure enough, it stopped and pooled slightly on the 11th stair. There was only a small drip between that and the top. His memory had not been deceiving him then. I should have known better than to doubt it, he told himself. It's never once failed me all my life. So someone had carried him then. A new round of questions came now, flooding in to 947's brain. Why would someone bother? If they really wanted to help they would've called security. That's protocol isn't it? So someone broke protocol. For me? Then why not call in so the injuries could be taken care of? They didn't want to let anyone know they had broken protocol. I had to go to the alarm station. But how did they know I wouldn't tell? Should I tell? Whoever it was didn't know I would figure it out. Why would they risk it if I might tell? They thought I was stupid.  
They were stupid.


	3. Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An experiment tries to reach out to 947

Levitsky had just changed his bloodstained shirt for a clean one when the call light at the corner of his screen flashed. He froze. Even Payne couldn't have discovered it that fast. However, when he pressed the reply button, Payne seemed more astonished than angry.

"Do you realize we've never had anything like this? And this is no nursery school were running."

"You've been notified then?"

"Apparently, 947 went to the alarm station and started listing off injuries but he wouldn't tell them what the situation was. When the medical staff examined him and guessed what happened, they notified me." Payne shook his head in disbelief. "We've had little skirmishes of course, but this was something else."

"Well what do you propose we do? You aren't suggesting we get involved?"

"Are you insane?" Here comes the anger. "You think we should throw away the pact just because of one episode?"

"It was just a thought."

"We are sticking to the plan. Same as ever. If he can keep himself alive, fine. If not, well then he's more trouble than he's worth."  
The screen went black. Levitsky sighed, always the drama queen.

* * *

By the time 947 left the medical sector, it was 15 minutes until lights out and everyone else in the unit was confined to their sleeping quarters. He palmed his way into the quarters and entered the room which had grown suddenly silent. A few sniggers broke through the silence as he hobbled toward his bunk at the far end of the room. Step. Clunk. Step. Clunk. His footsteps seemed even louder than usual. Murmurs began to spread throughout the room.

947 kept his eyes on his bunk. Doesn't matter. He leaned his crutches against his bed. Clutch can tell everyone how he threw me down the stairs, but when the tests are done, they'll all know he couldn't break me. He sat on his bed and began his study routine. He only had ten minutes now but that was far more than he needed. Closing his eyes, he visualized a switchboard in his head. Barely glancing at the labels, he reached out for the "auditory" switch and turned it off. Sounds never helped him to focus. He reached under his bed to find his study tablet, but had barely turned it on before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He snapped up, quickly jerking away from the intrusion and flicking his hearing back on.

"Just wanted to say hello."

Say hello? 947 started running an analysis. Experiment 946. One of the most intelligent of the unit. Why would he talk to me? What does he want? Too smart to waste his time trying to intimidate me. He knows he can make it without getting his hands dirty. He won't hurt me. He is safe.

"Hello."

"They can't really do anything, you know." He looked 947 straight in the eye, as if imparting some hard-earned wisdom. "In the end you'll be the one walking out of here."

"I know"

"You could tell someone, a teacher I mean," He said thoughtfully. "They wouldn't let them get away with this if they knew."

"Every room has a security camera. If the teachers were concerned about this they would have acted already."

"Oh" the boy replied, his face slightly red. "Well what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to take the test."

"I guess it's worth it in the long run. Problem is, Clutch is not happy. 926 told me that he was angry because he couldn't get you to cry or anything. Said you didn't even seem to feel it." Something about 946's words triggered a warning in 947's brain. He searched desperately for another subject of conversation, but 946's brow was furrowed. "Actually," he continued, "you act like that a lot.

Tuning out things. Not replying to noises.."

"I need to study."

"Oh come on. You? The genius?"

"We have a big test tomorrow."

"Fine. I only wanted to help."

946 clambered up to his bed on top of 947's. And that, he chided himself is why you don't talk to people. He had managed to fool the teachers into thinking he was normal, to an extent at least. The last thing he needed now was for someone to figure out just how different he was. The teachers couldn't control him. They couldn't hurt him. He couldn't let them know.

The next day began with the bright lights of sleeping quarters shining in his eyes and the blaring sound of the alarm bell in his ears. 947's brain kicked itself into motion instantly, blocking out the painful stimulation as he rose and took a quick inventory of his injuries before dismissing them. Still a bit sore, but nothing of importance.

"All experiments to testing room 2." He heard the disembodied voice of one of the teachers on the speaker system and moved towards the door with the rest of the boys.

Upon reaching the testing room they took their regular seats. Only this time a shield lowered around them as they sat down. 946 gave him a grin as he reached the desk next to him. 947 gave a curt nod and closed his eyes as the shield lowered around him.

The screen in front of him lit up displaying a mathematics problem. Trigonometry. The cosecant of 330 degrees. 2. Simple memorization and calculation. Nothing he had not encountered before. He had expected more. Some kind of analysis, puzzle-solving maybe. This was boring. He finished the test and the shield lifted. Around him all of the shields were down but he knew the others wouldn't be far behind. His abilities gave him little advantage here. He proceeded to the injection station and pressed his ID plaque against the machine. With a whir and a slight pinch, the machine injected all of the necessary calories and nutrients for the day and deposited a small roll of bread into his hand. To keep teeth and digestive organs functional, supposedly. But as 947 stared blankly at his plaque, something caught his eye. The metal diamond was no different than usual. Inscribed with the words "Experiment #947. Property of LP Lab." But at the corner nearest his wrist, he saw a green light blink. Just for a second but a second was enough to get 947's mind churning. He went to his switchboard and shut off everything. Everything but the essentials.

Why? The panel was on? No. Charged. Charged for what? The plaque was just for identification. But that couldn't be true. How did I not think of it? They would never let us roam the lab freely. A tracking device. It can give enough energy for its frequencies to be received and distinguished. But that takes power. Power. Power from the injection machine. Perfect. It's only a matter of time before they find out they don't have control. And then I'm defenseless. But if I can escape. Hold out long enough to let the power die... Too late now; I've just recharged. Tomorrow? No. I need to lay low for a while make sure no one tries to get revenge. Once we take several more tests I'll be sure of my safety.

Resigned to the wait ahead he opened his eyes to find himself on the floor. Muscles collapsed. Not the first time. That kind of mental focus always came with a price. He clambered up, anxious to clear the corridor before the others boys arrived.

* * *

"A perfect score."

"We've had perfects before."

"Yes but not in ten minutes."

"Great, Levitsky. You've created a genius. I know. What do you hope to accomplish by this. You can't get everyone to worship it like you do."

"His test was the best in the unit. That always merited your attention before."

"I fully expected it to do well on the test. The question is, will it survive after the results come out."

“I’ve begun to wonder if we should have punished 935. The experiments need to stay focused on testing not taking each other out with violence.”

“We can’t afford to place the safety of any one experiment over the security of this facility. The more we punish them, the more they become aware of our presence. Threaten them with punishment and they panic, try to fight us, to escape; offer them a prize and they fight each other for it. That’s how the system works.”

“Yes, but they’re meant to be fighting with their minds, not muscles.”

“Look Levitsky, I don’t give a damn about 947. We have priorities here, and they need to be preserved. Anything else is extraneous.”

"I'll keep an eye on the security footage."

"Don't kid yourself. You know we can only cover 70 percent of this facility with those cameras. These experiments are fully capable of outsmarting you. If they don't want to be seen, you won't see them."


	4. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 947 tries to investigate a possible escape route, but soon encounters a dangerously practical adversary   
> Warning: violence, attempted murder

947 woke to find a slight churning sensation in his stomach. Strange. He reached for the switch and turned it off. Not helpful. In their first class they would receive the rankings after the first test. He needed to conduct his experiment, but he also needed to stay out of trouble if possible. Spending the night in the medical sector would not speed the investigations along. However, he knew that after Clutch realized how ineffective his efforts had been, he might lash out. Nothing too serious of course. The teachers may have ignored him before but anything more could put him in the blue light room.

Taking his seat at the front of the class, he regulated his heart and breathing. Was there something wrong with him? 947 was surprised to find Dr. Levitsky once more at the front of the room. He must think he needs to be here so we don't underestimate the importance of the tests. Stupid.

"Today I will be revealing the unit rankings after your first test. This should help you get a sense for where you stand and the amount of effort you will need to exert to survive the cut." He looked at the class carefully. "You should know," he continued, "that while we avoid intervention, our priority is the success of this experiment and any act of sabotage will be punished." He paced in front of the class, his gaze resting for a moment on each face. 947 recoiled in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable. "Understood?" The unit sat in silence. Levitsky stood behind the teachers control panel and flipped a switch. The screens of each workstation lit, displaying the rankings.

**947**  
 **946**  
 **934**  
 **927**  
 **928**  
933  
949  
935

The rest 947 skimmed through but found little of importance. He was unsurprised to find himself on top, but had not expected 946 to have so high a rank. He was intelligent of course but 947 wouldn't have singled him out as 2nd place. Hmm. Maybe he would have been a useful ally after all. No. Someone that smart would work it out in days. Need to protect myself. Stupid people are the safe ones.

"You have the rest of the class period to prepare for your examination tomorrow." 947 switched off the auditory input and began working through the study program at his workstation. He worked out the math and science problems in moments. Simple. They were nothing new. But he couldn't quite get himself to focus. He took a quick scan of his body. No, there was nothing to distract him. No aches or churning stomachs. It was something else. Nagging at the back of his brain. The cut. What happened after the cut? He shut off visual input. That wouldn't help. A new unit made every two months. So the teachers told them. Twenty people remaining here in the lab... Doing what? All the teachers, security officers and medical workers he had noticed looked nothing like the experiments. They had hair on the tops of their heads, no plaques on their arms. And how would the lab feed an ever-growing population? It couldn't. The system was unsupportable. Levitsky's words jumped into his mind. Survive the cut. Not make the cut, survive the cut.

947's head was reeling. With a shaking hand he fumbled with the switches turning them on as quickly as he could. At the end of this month, only five of us will still be alive. It made sense. The lab would have to get rid of failed experiments. It was the only way to keep going. He looked around at the class. Some of the boys were gazing intently at their screens, but most were whispering to their friends or horsing around. Only improves my chances.

The next days went by in a blur. Test. Results. Test. Results. 947 slipped once to second place but after studying with renewed urgency, was back on top. However, he kept a careful eye on Clutch's progress. He always seemed to hover around the 8th or 9th place. 947 delayed his experiment, instead confining himself to the sleeping quarters and spending as little time as possible in the corridors. His strategy seemed to work or maybe Clutch had simply given up on the idea of trying to break him. When the results of their 9th test came out, 947 felt ready to try his experiment. He knew once the 10th and final test was finished, things would begin to change. He would no longer be able to predict the patterns of their days. That was dangerous. That was when he would need to disappear.

When the first class of the day ended, the rest of the unit proceeded to the injection station. 947, however, took a long walk through the less used corridors of the lab. He knew the passageways perfectly, at least, all the passageways the experiments had clearance for. He kept his right forearm in front of him, periodically checking for some kind of signal. However, his main objective was to find a flaw in the design of the place. He looked up at the ceiling. Nothing but air vents and light fixtures. The air vents might work, only they were far too small, even if he found some way to get up there. The walls were bare except for the occasional alarm box. He should have known better than to expect some kind of escape to pop out. He had been living here for 8 eight years. If there were a flaw, why should he find it now?

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he felt another close over his mouth. Clutch. "We both know why I'm doing this." No. Not Clutch. Not his voice. But whoever it is, he knows. I suppose I couldn't be the only one to work it out. 947 felt himself being pushed forward. His captor guided him to a short branching corridor with a classroom on one side and a supply closet on the other. Nobody went here. 947 looked up desperately for a camera but whoever was doing this had planned it out well. A warning bell rang in 947's head. If he just wanted to rough me around a little, he could have done it in the open. Carefully, his captor took a hand off 947's shoulder and opened the door to the closet, shoving 947 inside and tossing his supports away. 947 got his first look at the boy and all hope disappeared. 933. Ranked 6th in the unit. If I die, he survives.

947 tried desperately to stand but his legs were like jelly. 933 smiled down at him. "I'm sure you've realized by now what I intend to do. But don't worry. I'm not sadistic, just...practical." He grabbed a surface cleaner and shoved the heavy end hard into 947's stomach. Pain receptors, off. He looked 933 straight in the eye, refusing to even cringe as blow after blow landed on his stomach. Mustering all his strength, he lifted his arm just long enough to see a red light blink in the corner of his plaque. Too late anyway. He was almost certain the blows had ruptured an internal organ by now. By the time the teachers realized something was wrong and tried to check his location, he would be long dead. Calmly, 933 stepped back, and closed the door, leaving 947 in darkness. He felt a sudden tightness in his throat and behind his eyes. Tears. No. He was not going to cry. Not now. He drifted away for a moment. But pulled himself harshly back. Stay in control. As long as I have control, I win. Control. He went to his switchboard and ran his hands over the buttons and switches. Keep the pain receptors down. Face blank. Auditory open. Visual, well nothing much to see.

"Supply closet across from classroom 4." The voice came from a nearby corridor. "Come now or don't come at all. There won't be much left to do in few minutes." Someone was at the alarm box. They had found him. But how? He heard the supply closet door open and switched on visual input. 946 was standing above him, his face horrified. "The medics are coming, 7. Just try to stay calm." Ironic. I'm perfectly calm but he looks ready to vomit. 947 wanted to say something but was afraid of what might happen if he opened his mouth.

"Clear the passageway please," a voice ordered and the red clad emergency team appeared behind 946, shoving him aside. 947 lifted his head to find him and their eyes met for a moment before he slipped away.


	5. Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 947 recovers and asks 946 why he saved his life.

When 947 woke, his heart was pounding. Back in the needle bed. Bright lights in his eyes. He looked down at his arms and wanted to scream. Tubes full of strange colored liquids were taped on to his skin. He tried to pull himself free but all of his limbs were strapped to the bed. A woman in a blue jumpsuit approached his bed holding a syringe. 947 recoiled. No. No. Stop it. Stop it now.

"This is just an antibiotic. Calm down." The woman told him. He stopped squirming but his heart was still racing. He accessed his switchboard and tested the controls. Still functioning. He regulated heart and breathing and closed his eyes as the woman injected the antibiotic. He looked around the room and realized why he had panicked. It was the same room where they had put him all those years ago. A special section of the medical sector no doubt.

He let his gaze fall blankly on a bare stretch of wall as he tried to recall the details of what had happened. Lying in the closet. 946 at the alarm box. He must have followed him and watched what happened, waiting until 933 left to raise the alarm. A sound plan. The only thing missing was a motivation. He would have to ask 946 about that when he left the medical sector. For now there was nothing he could do. He stared at the wall, a large empty metal panel. Strangely empty actually. The medical sector was a crowded place, machinery, beds and equipment covering every spare inch. So why would they leave a perfectly suitable stretch of space empty? Auditory input, off, but he kept visual on. Could it just be wastefulness? No. The teachers counted the exact number of calories each boy would need to get through their day. Beds were packed close together to save space in the sleeping quarters. Everything in the lab had a purpose, so that panel had a purpose too. A container of some kind? If would have to be something extremely important to demand that sort of space. It would be a simple matter to just push things out of the way to access it. The only situation in which that would be impossible would be some kind of emergency. Some kind of fire prevention equipment? But why hide it under a wall panel. An emergency something. 947 closed his eyes and imagined the lab crumbling, flames and dust and people running, trying to escape. Escape. An emergency escape!

He felt a hand on his arm and turned his hearing back on. "Well, it looks like you're ready to go," the medic told him as she unbuckled the straps that held him to the table. "It's 30 minutes until lights out so you had better hurry back to your quarters." He nodded but took his time getting up, and positioning his supports under his arms. He waited until the woman left before making his way over to the wall. He was startled to find how weak he was. His whole body ached and his arms shook with the effort of using his crutches. He turned off the pain but there was nothing to be done about exhaustion. When he reached the wall, he went to the panel next to the bare one and rapped it with his fist as loudly as he dared, making a dull, muffled thud. Shuffling sideways, he knocked on the bare panel. This time the sound resonated, seeming almost to ring. Satisfied, he left the medical sector.

* * *

"Lacerated liver. Ruptured spleen. Resulting in a class IV hemorrhage, hypovolemic shock..." Levitsky read the first line of the medical report and shook his head. "Apparently he was attacked just before his injection, because his plaque was uncharged. If that boy hadn't found him, he would have been dead from exsanguination in minutes."

"And the one thing you fail to mention is the 20,000 ICU surgery it took to keep it alive. Do we know which experiment was responsible for this?"

"I reviewed the footage on the nearest camera. It seems experiment 933 grabbed him and dragged him away but after that, he was out of the camera's range."

"We have 30 minutes left until lights out. 933 can spend them in the Blue Light Room. That should discourage it from causing any more pointless expenses."

* * *

By the time 947 entered the sleeping quarters, he was ready to collapse. However, he was resolved not to show any weakness. As he walked between the beds, he noticed 933 sitting frozen, staring at the wall. The Blue Light Room. Undoubtedly. Upon finally reaching his bed, he flopped down on the side, his crutches clattering to the floor. He lay down, carefully lowering his torso to the bed. He began shutting down the switchboard to prepare for sleep when he heard 946's voice. "I just remembered. Our test was postponed a day while you were in surgery. It was supposed to be today but..."

"Why did you do it?"

"What?"

"You saved my life. Why?"

"Aren't you supposed to be saying thank you?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"But I need to know. It doesn't make sense."

"Why doesn't it make sense? I'm curious about you. You're interesting. But when it comes to what people are thinking you're an idiot." 946 laughed at the look on 947's face. "Don't worry, 7, I know you're a genius. But you can't really have thought you were the only one to realize how high the stakes are."

"I knew I was in danger. I had been careful until then, but I, I had something that I needed to test."

"Don't you see? That's the problem. You keep yourself so isolated from everyone. Maybe if you payed more attention you would have seen how dangerous this place is for you."

"So, _you_ saw that and followed me?"

“I had been keeping an eye out for a while. But I was almost too late. 942 wanted to ask me something after class, and by the time we were finished, you were gone. I went to the sleeping quarters, but you weren’t there and I was searching the halls when I came across your crutches on the floor. That’s when I knew something was wrong.”

“But why did you search for me in the first place?” 946 frowned slightly, his brow furrowing.

“I told you. I knew there were people who wanted to hurt you. I wanted to help if I could. Is that so unnatural?”

Yes.

"I suppose not."

"I'll leave you alone. Get some rest, okay?" 947 nodded. He appreciated that 6 seemed to understand his need for privacy. That was good. The lights of the quarters turned off. 947 was exhausted but in the darkness, he found himself back on the closet floor. 933 towering above him. His face seemed to distort itself into a twisted lump as he lifted the heavy surface cleaner. As it came speeding down, 947 curled up into the fetal position, his chest pounding. For once he knew why. He was scared.


	6. I'll tell you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 946 confronts 7 and asks him to explain what he is hiding.

Lights on as usual. 947 stood up only to find he was somehow losing peripheral vision. His head was spinning and he swayed slightly. A hand grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back to the bed, where he sat, waiting for his vision to return to normal.

"You can't just stand up like that," 6's voice chided him. "You lost a lot of blood and your blood pressure won't be back to normal for at least a couple of days."  
947 knew that of course, but he simply nodded, waiting for 6 to leave. However 946 seemed to have something on his mind. "Something wrong?" He asked as they made their way to the testing room.

"What? Oh. No. It's just well..." 946's voice shook slightly and he wouldn't meet 947's gaze.

"Yes?"

"Did you know you were crying in your sleep last night?" 947 felt his face growing hot and immediately decreased the blood flow.

"No." He wanted nothing more than to end this conversation.

"No one could blame you. I mean, you were almost killed."

"I know." They had reached the testing room.

"Well.. good luck." 946 took his seat and the shield lowered.

The final test did not fall short of 947's expectations. It asked them not only to recall their basic mathematical and scientific principles, but to put those principals to use, to solve problems. They were given a situation, materials and a goal, and had to use both creativity and knowledge to find the solution. 947 was blissfully immersed in the work. No death threats. No crying. No pain and fear. Only the ideas. Wonderful and clear. When he submitted his last response the shield lifted, but his on his screen was a message. "Remain seated for a unit announcement."

In the unexpected wait, his mind returned to the panel in the medical section. He turned off everything that was unnecessary. That exciting, mysterious, panel. What could be behind it? The tunnel would have to go upwards at some point wouldn't it. After all, the lab was deep underground. With a sinking feeling he realized what that meant. Ladders. The most direct and efficient way out. Problem is, I can't climb ladders. Of course, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't be able to make it, but it was highly unlikely. Ironic. Anyone else would be able to make it out, but the one person who found the panel would most likely not be able to escape.

947 thought of a dozen theories but was getting nowhere. He returned to his switchboard and switched everything back on. 946 was staring him in the face, eyes wide. "What is wrong with you?" He exclaimed looking flustered. "You missed the entire unit announcement and I've just spent the last minute trying to reach you, but you didn't respond. You were staring right through me like I wasn't there and when I clapped my hands next to your ears you didn't even flinch." Thankfully they were the only ones left in the classroom, but the damage one person could do could not be underestimated.

"It's... Nothing. I just fell asleep."

"I know you're the smartest in the unit, but that doesn't make everyone else stupid. You really think I would believe that?" 6 turned away, agitated. "I've tried to look out for you. I don't even know why. It's not like you did anything in return. All I'm asking is that you tell me what is going on."

"It isn't that simple. I haven't concealed it for eight years simply because I didn't want to tell anyone."

"You owe it to me, 7." 947 waited for him to say more, but that seemed to be his final word. Not the strongest argument in my opinion. I'm supposed to divulge sensitive information out of some abstract sense of obligation? But when he saw the determination on 6's face he knew nothing would dissuade him from getting what he wanted.

"Fine. But not here. I'll tell you, but no one else can know."

The supply closet across from classroom four. It was the last place anyone would expect 947 to return to, but it was practical. 933 chose the spot to avoid security cameras and 947 returned there for the same reason, 946 walking patiently next to him. Once they reached the closet, 947 started talking, softly and quickly. 946 listened intently to his description of the switchboard, of how he could control all of the nerve signals that reached his brain and the bodily functions that were beyond the control of most people. When he described his reaction to the Blue Light Room however, 946 could not restrain himself. "So, it doesn't affect you? At all? But that's the only thing keeping us all in line. That's how they control us."

"I know. That's why I was reluctant to tell you."

"But surely they know that it doesn't affect you."

"No. I watched your reaction and did my best to imitate it. I assume it worked. I doubt I would still be alive if it hadn't." The two boys stood quietly, not sure what to do next.

"Well, is that it?"

"I think so." A moment of silence followed. It was strange to finally tell someone. After living in secret for years, 947 felt as though something terrible would happen once he told the truth. In reality, however, it felt wonderful, like he had been about to burst and someone had pulled a stopper out of him, letting him deflate. He pushed the door of the closet open and he and 946 walked out into the corridor.

"So, what was the unit announcement on anyway?" he asked in a strangely humorous tone. After what had just happened, the announcement seemed ridiculous. 6 looked surprised to see him so lighthearted but replied with exaggerated urgency.

"Oh yes. It's my turn to fill you in now. Where's the nearest closet?" 947 felt a strange sensation building up inside him. He considered stopping it, but decided to let it out, whatever it was. It turned out to be a laugh.

"Really though," he said when his laugh had died down, "what did it say?"

"Oh, they just said to 'take the day off' while the teachers discuss our placement in the outside world. Tomorrow we'll get out final rankings." 947 nodded.

Tomorrow he would know his future.


	7. Practical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An emergency alert sends the lab into chaos.

"Have you considered my proposal?"

"Of course."

"Had a change of heart perhaps?"

"Heart? This is not about feelings, Levitsky, at least not for me."

"Mind then. Don't twist my words."

"I know you. You don't just throw words around like nothing when you know they aren't."

"You're stalling."

"Fine. My position is unchanged."

"He's the best we've ever created."

"Yes, I know. And I intend to build upon your idea. But you must realize that keeping it alive would be a significant drain on our resources."

"He's only eight years old. He's still relatively undeveloped. In time we may learn more about his abilities and be able to make the necessary adjustments."

"The problem is, it's already cost us more than the entire rest of the unit put together."

"He wouldn't have been nearly so expensive if you hadn't insisted on all those ridiculously unnecessary tests."

"What, so I was supposed to just let it run around with out any way to stop it if it got out of hand?"

"The Blue Light Room was perfectly effective. Developing the drug was excessive and a waste of resources."

"But consider, once we've used your modifications on all of the experiments, that drug will become invaluable. Anyway, this is all extraneous. The point is, experiment 947 is more trouble than it's worth."

"But-"

"And in a few years it will get the disease and we'll be having this conversation again. You have to see how illogical the idea is." Levitsky sighed. Outsmarted again. How could he win without divulging the real reason for his argument?

"Fine."

He ended the video call and put his face in his hands. Damn Payne and his impeccable logic. Now he was scheduled to give results to the unit. He could call another teacher. He should. But somehow it wouldn't feel right. Levitsky couldn't miss his last chance to see the boy.

Levitsky left his office at the far end of the lab and walked toward classroom 2. He reached the teacher's entrance but hesitated. Every child in that room would be dead tomorrow. He took a deep breath and opened the door. He avoided making eye contact with anyone, heading straight for the teacher's control panel.

"Today," he began keeping his eyes on the wall opposite him, "I will reveal the final unit rankings." He couldn't help himself. He looked to the desk in the front where he knew 947 would be sitting. Cold. Calculating. Levitsky felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He continued. "For those who have not made the cut, do not be alarmed. Our facility will find occupations for you all. There is a place for you here" His voice caught slightly and he cleared his throat. "Now, the results." He turned on every personal screen to display the rankings. "Congratulations to our top..." His voice trailed off as he heard an urgent voice on the panel intercom. 

"Code black. The laboratory has been breached. Government investigation vehicles have-" He switched off the volume before anything critical was given away. They had been discovered. Now. Of all times, it had to be now. They had made progress, they were ready. Ready to create the perfect human. They could send their experiments out into the world they could solve the problems of the planet, they could save lives...

"I've just been notified of an emergency. You need to get to your sleeping quarters as quickly as you can. You'll be safe there. Now move." He watched the boys scurrying out. Well it hadn't mattered in the end. None of the experiments could be allowed to survive. Destroy evidence, it was the only way.

Suddenly, the ground began to rumble beneath his feet. He ran for the door, wrenching it open. The hall outside was even louder, the air filled with a film of dust and dirt. He hurried to the end of the corridor only to find it caved in. Back into the classroom. A sudden gust of cold air hit him. Sirens blaring from above. He looked up to see a gaping hole above him, and far above, the inky sky. Headlights shone in his eyes. Over a speaker he heard a woman's voice. "Hands above your head, now." He obeyed, trying to see past the lights to the source of the sound. Ropes descended from the surface down into the classroom below. Suited figures slid down into the pit. They grabbed him, roughly searching for any weapons. The fools. As if I would waste my time shooting down random enforcers. He stood motionless as they wrapped a belt around his waist and cuffed his hands together. The temperature of the sleeping quarters would be fatal by now. All that remained would be to burn the bodies to ashes. No evidence. A rope was attached to his belt and he felt himself being pulled up. Away from the only thing he'd ever cared about in his life. He looked down into the wreckage of his life's work.

_I'm sorry. It doesn't change anything.  
_

_But I'm sorry._

* * *

947's brain was spinning. Someone had broken in. Not just some thief or criminal. The government. The government wasn't supposed to know about this lab. Now they do. And we need to be eliminated. The less evidence, the safer for them. Of course. We've been ordered to our quarters. They need to contain us so they can be sure no one escapes.

He hobbled through the corridors as fast as he could. 946 saw him and called, "Hurry. We need to get to safety." 947 tried but he knew there was no way he could keep up with the others. The ground beneath them shook. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Suddenly it clicked. Help. He would never make it through the escape route. At least not on his own.

"Yes. Follow me." He turned suddenly at the intersection, letting the other boys continue to the quarters and limped as quickly as he could down the hall towards the medical sector.

"Are you insane? We need to get to safety now!"

"That's what I'm doing."

"What are you talking about?"

"We are living evidence of their infractions. Our only hope is to escape this lab while we can."

"You think they're going to kill us?"

"You really think they would allow us to survive?"  
947 reached the door of the medical sector only to find a pile of rubble as high as his shoulders. "I can't get over this myself."

"But."

"Please. Trust me. I promise, you will not regret it." 946 was spared his decision by a huge crash as the hallway behind them caved in. He climbed to the top of the pile and pulled 947 up and over. 947 was panting as he maneuvered his way through the maze of medical equipment. The air was thick with dust and the whole room seemed to rumble. He reached the intensive care sector only to find the medical equipment ablaze. Temperature input, off. He looked across the room and could just make out an opening in the wall opposite. "It's there. The escape is just across the room." 947 turned but was confused to find 946 back in the previous room, his face aghast.

"Look, 7, we can't all just turn off pain like you. I, I can't make it through those flames."

"You don't have a choice. Run. There's a clear path in the center of the room. Just run." 947 took a deep breath and lunged forward, avoiding the major blazes as best he could. When he reached the opening he dove for it, pushing back with his supports as hard as he could. He ended up at the bottom of long vertical tunnel with a ladder on one side, leading up into the darkness. 946 suddenly flew through the opening, landing on top of him. "Were almost there" 947 panted gazing up at the ladder. So high.

"So, um, how are you getting up there?" 946 asked craning his neck to see the top of the ladder.

"I can't do it alone." 946 sighed.

"No you can't." 947 set down his supports. They couldn't help him here. He pulled himself towards the first rungs of the ladder and grabbed on, dragging his body up the ladder until he was dangling from a rung. 946 ran to help, holding on to his legs to support him. After several failed attempts, they found the only way to get up was for 947 to sit on 946's shoulders and use his arms to pull himself while 946 made up for his useless legs. _Thankfully I don't weigh much. Still it's a long climb._ The first section of ladder was exhausting. By the time they reached the landing, both boys were panting, their limbs shaking from the effort.

"I can't," 947 gasped. "Go now, while you can."

"No."

 

"Don't be ridiculous." 947 was losing vision, his head swirling.

"I can't just leave."

"I'm not selfless. I'm practical. And I'm telling you I can't do it."

"We are both getting out, 7."

"You're wasting time."

"Just hold on to the ladder. That's all you need to do." 946's voice was breaking. What was wrong with him? Couldn't he see that the only way to save himself was to leave now? "Please."

"Fine." He dragged himself to the ladder, but his arms were trembling. 946 grabbed around the stomach and lifted him over his shoulders once more. They began the climb. Each rung seemed miles away as he lifted his shaking hands to grasp the metal bars. He heard 946 gasping for breath below him. If I let go, he falls with me. Have to keep going.

A gust of frigid air hit him. I'm out. I did it. As 947 reached for the last rung he found himself grasping some kind of powder. It was colder than anything he had ever felt. He dragged himself out of the tunnel and pulled 946 up. Temperature, off. When had it turned back on? Pain. The pain was back. Too much. His hands burned. The cold air was blowing, hitting him like an icy wall. But he was out. He was safe.


	8. Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Government forces led by Captain Pavia take custody of 946, 947, and Dr. Levitsky. News of the lab's discovery reach the media.

"We have him in custody." Captain Pavia spoke quickly into her headset. She surveyed the screens in front of her. There had to be more. A lab that size run by one man? Impossible. "Stevenson, have you scanned the surrounding area."

"Affirmative, Captain."

"Any signs of life?"

"It doesn't appear so." Pavia sighed. They would have to rely on what was left of the lab and the testimony of their one criminal. The prosecution would succeed of course, but that wasn't enough. Pavia wanted to know what was going on down there. Whoever built that lab had taken great pains to conceal the operation. Who could say what they had been creating down there or the dangers those products might pose to the world.

"Wait." She heard the voice of sergeant over her headset and sat up straight.

"Yes?"

"I'm getting something. Two life forms. Faint but there. They're about a half mile away from our location."

"Get me there, sergeant." She heard a rumble beneath her as the engines ignited. As they sped over the snow, she stood up. "Officer Camson, get my snow suit and take the control. I'm going down."

"Yes, sir." Pavia had her suit on in seconds and ran to the airlock. Her emergency squad stood at attention, weapons in hand. They followed her into the airlock, which sank out of the cruiser on its magnetic tracks, landing with a soft thump on the snowy ground.

"Ready everyone?" she asked, glancing around her.

"Yes sir!" Their voices bounced off the walls of the airlock. Out into the freezing wind. She could see two dark shapes amid the pale snow, huddled together. With the squad behind her, she made for them at a jog. As she neared them, she noticed one of the figures had lifted itself from the snow and was waving its arms in the air.   
It was a boy. A little boy.

"They're only kids!" gasped one officer.

"Stay back." she ordered the squad. "Keep six feet behind me and hold your weapons at the ready. I'm inclined to believe they're harmless but we can't be too careful." She approached the boy who had been waving. He was now hunched next to his unconscious companion, a worried expression on his face. He was completely bald, and clad in a gray-blue jumpsuit. His face was normal enough, delicately shaped with slanted almond eyes, but there was something slightly off-putting about him.

"Please. My friend is in critical condition. If there are any medical personnel on board you vehicle, I suggest you call them now." He looked her straight in the eye and she was startled by the calm intensity of his gaze. Yet he couldn't be much older than eight. She looked down at the other boy who lay unconscious in the snow. Small, frail, his legs shrunken and slightly twisted.

"Sergeant, we need a medical squad down here and hover-rafts to bring the patients aboard," she ordered into her headset. She looked back to the boy and noticed he was shivering. Quickly she removed her jacket and wrapped it around the boy's shoulders. When the medical team arrived, they placed both boys on rafts to speed them on board. Pavia took the opportunity to examine the ground around them. A few feet away from where the boys had been, there seemed to be a hole of some kind in the ground. She crouched at the edge and peered down into it, then called to her officers.

"There's some sort of tunnel down here. I need someone to climb down and investigate." One officer stepped forward from the group and slinging his weapon across his back, descended into the hole. Halfway down the ladder, she saw him switch on his headlamp to illuminate the darkness. She waited until he reached the bottom before calling down, "Can you see where the tunnel leads?"

"It seems to open into the lab, but outside the doorway, everything is caved in." Pavia swore under her breath. She started to wonder if perhaps the lab was built so fragilely on purpose, so that anyone who broke in would be unable to find out what they had been doing.

"Come on up then," she ordered curtly. Back to the hover-cruiser. She was hoping to return with all the answers, ready to file a report and move on. However, as her thoughts returned to the man and the two boys they had found, her mood lightened considerably. Surely between the three they could discover the truth.

While the medics examined the two boys, Pavia's officers caught her up on the man they had captured. Facial and fingerprint scans had identified him as Dr. Levitsky, a leading scientist in the field of genetics until his supposed death in 2054, at which point he must have decided to go underground- literally. She felt guilty at the thought of interrogating those two boys, odd as they were, but Levitsky had no claim on her sympathies. She received his cell number and made her way to the prison level. Standing just outside the glass door to Levisky's cell, she watched the dark-haired man kneeling as if in prayer, head bowed as he muttered under his breath.

"No choice... Evidence....I couldn't....I'm sorry...sorry..."

"I'm afraid being sorry isn't enough to get you cleared for this." The man looked up at her coldly.

"I wasn't talking to you." His voice was heavily accented.

"You might be interested to know," she said, "that we've just found two young boys. They seemed to have escaped by climbing a ladder out of the lab." The man's face seemed almost hopeful for a moment before his eyes narrowed.

"Why would you tell me this?"

"Because now that we have witnesses to your crimes, I was hoping you would realize the futility of resisting and give me a confession right now."

"It doesn't matter. Whether I tell you or not, I will be convicted."

"True, but you might shorten your sentence by opening up."

"A life sentence is a life sentence. You think that I went into this oblivious of the consequences should I be discovered?" Pavia sighed, there was no fooling him.

"I was hoping to get a statement now and have out with it but I can wait. We'll find out the truth soon enough." She turned to go but after a moments hesitation, Levitsky called after her.

"Wait!" She paused. "The boys. Did one of them have a deformity in his legs?" How had he known? Had he meant for him to escape?

"I'm afraid I can't divulge that information," she said trying to keep her face blank. It didn't work. Levitsky caught her expression and smiled slightly.

"I understand.Thank you."

Captain Pavia left the prison level, compiling her preliminary report in her head. Dr. Levitsky had built and run the lab, which meant whatever had been going on was almost certainly some genetic experiment. The size of the lab, it's location, all of the basics could be relayed. But the boys. Pavia wasn't sure what to do about them. Well, that part of the report could wait until after the medics had examined them. Besides, this was the first major infringement since the ban. The world would need to take the news one piece at a time.

* * *

Mr. Brooks strode across the polished wooden floors to where the reporter stood waiting. He shook her hand taking care that his grip was strong and confident. "If you would just step this way Mr. Brooks," she said beckoning to the chair beside the reporters desk. The cameras rolled and the reporter plastered a huge smile on her face as she proclaimed, "Good morning everyone. I'm Miranda Harrison here today with our special guest: Mr. Gregory Brooks himself." He saw the cameras pan out to include him in the shot and gave them a curt nod. "Yes folks," the reporter continued, "It's the very man who first introduced the revolutionary ban on genetic drugs and testing back in 2040, and he's here today to discuss the evolution of that law and it's implementation over the years,"

The interview went smoothly enough. It was all very simple. Having already earned the respect of his viewers he had only to meet their established expectations of clean professionalism. At the conclusion of the interview, the reporter thanked him and he stepped out from under the lights. Just as he was walking off set however, he heard Miranda Harrison's voice again. "This just in. An underground lab was recently discovered and investigated by a police team. They found evidence of a cloning facility. No actual experiments have yet been found but the facility was large enough to support hundreds of people. This mysterious discovery has baffled experts who are unable to determine the purpose of this operation or how it remained undetected until now. More on this when we come back."

Mr. Brooks stood frozen, stunned. A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his shocked reverie and pushed his way through the concerned crowd that had gathered around him, heading straight for the studio restroom. When he got there he closed the door firmly behind him. _Could this really be happening?_  He asked himself. _Could everything he had worked for his whole life be disregarded so easily?_  No. He had fought for years to stop this from happening and there was no way he would stop now. He straightened his tie and checked himself in the mirror, running his hands through his hair to make it lie flat. It was essential now that he look impeccable. He must convince the world that order would prevail, that everything was under control. He left the studio bathroom and strode through the darkened maze of cables and curtain to the set. Miranda Harrison approached him timidly.

"Are you feeling better Mr. Brooks?" she asked as though he might explode at the wrong word.

"Yes, I assure you. Much better." He took a deep breath. "In fact, in light of the recent discovery, I was hoping we might sit down now and establish my position on the matter." Harrison looked at him with a mixture of fear and eagerness.

"You mean right now?"

"Right now," he assured her, "While it's still fresh in their minds."

 


	9. Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Pavia talks with 946 and 947. But when they arrive at the planetary capital, things do not go according to plan.

Captain Pavia entered the medical sector. They had been traveling for 11 hours and were less than an hour away from the Planetary Capital. However, before they reached their destination, she wanted to get a feel for the boys' psychological state. She needed to know what the best place would be for them once they arrived in the capital. As the only one to have interacted with them, the officials would seek a recommendation from her and she needed to be ready. As she entered the room, she immediately spotted the crippled boy lying on a cot, his eyes open blankly.

"Hello there. My name is Captain Pavia." The boy didn't react in the slightest.

"He can't hear you." She looked for the source of the voice and her eyes fell on the second boy as he stood up from a chair next to his companion's bed.

"What, is he deaf?" The boy shook his head calmly. "Then what's wrong? He sleeps with his eyes open?"

"Of course not. It's just his way of dealing with things I imagine." Pavia could see that was all the answer she should expect. She took a seat facing the bed and observed the boy, who took a seat opposite her and looked at her expectantly.

"What should I call you?"

"I am experiment number 946. This is 947," he said indicating the boy on the bed. "Mostly we just call each other 6 and 7" Pavia wasn't sure how to react but the boy acted as though having numbers as names was completely normal so she continued without comment.

"Pleased to meet you."

"Did anyone else get out?"

"There were others?"

"Yes. Several hundred I would guess."

"Well as to your question, I'm afraid the answer is no. The only other person we found was Dr. Levitsky, a scientist."

"Oh..." The boy seemed at a loss for words, his calm demeanor disturbed.

"What's wrong?" Pavia was desperate to know but tried to adopt as sympathetic a tone as she could.

"It's nothing. I suppose I knew it already." He said, a throaty quality to his voice. "7 told me they would... they would kill the other boys to eliminate evidence. I guess I just didn't believe they would really do it." He looked down at the floor, blinking back tears and Pavia sat, torn. She knew she should comfort him, but the boy might never have been hugged before. The last thing she wanted was to scare him away.

"Listen, I know this is hard," she said as gently as she could, "but I need to know what happened. Can you tell me exactly what went on down there?" He nodded and after taking a few moments to collect himself, began.

"947 and I are part of a unit of twenty-five boys. When you arrived, we heard the alarm and our unit was ordered back to our quarters. 7, he told me that the teachers would try to get rid of us so there wouldn't be any evidence of what they did." 946's voice broke slightly and he seemed ready to cry but he continued. "He was right of course. He's always right. He led me to an escape and we climbed out together. I had to help him because his legs can't hold any weight. Then you found us." Hundreds of boys killed? Obviously there was something very important about these children that they weren't supposed to find out.

"You don't happen to have any idea why you were living down there?"

"They wanted to see how smart we were. They taught us mathematics and science and gave us tests." Genetically engineered to have superior intelligence. She was almost certain. Still, she couldn't jump to conclusions.

"And you've never been outside?"

"No."

"What were those tests for?"

"Our unit was ranked according to the scores. The teachers told us that if we were in the top five, we would get to leave the lab."

"What was your rank?"

"I was second," he said calmly, as though he was completely unaffected. Pavia was surprised. He seemed an unusual boy, but his manners were fairly normal for one who, on top of having lived in a lab all his life, was of far above average intelligence.

"That's quite impressive! You were practically the best," she said hoping the praise would cheer him up. However he barely even smiled, shaking his head gravely.

"No I wasn't."

"What do you mean? You were second place weren't you?" The boy sighed slightly in frustration.

"Well I didn't see the actual scores but I know there must have been quite a gap between 7 and me."  
"You mean your friend over there?"

"Oh yes. I'm very smart of course, but there's something different about him. It's hard to explain." Pavia reexamined the boy on the bed. Eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, his body utterly still. Definitely different.

"Are you sure there's nothing you can do to wake him up?" she asked, rising from her seat and walking slowly to stand by the boy's bed. "We're going to be arriving in just a few minutes and I'd like to have a chance to talk to him."

"I don't think so, and even if I could I'm not sure it would be a good idea. He does everything for a reason. When he's ready he'll come around." 946 joined her at the bedside and gazed intently at his friend. Pavia watched his face carefully. He had a certain softness despite his stiff manners.   
Suddenly his eyes widened in surprise and Captain Pavia looked down to find 947 staring at her.

"My name is Captain Pavia of the Planetary Police Force." He continued to stare at her. "You're in the medical deck of the hover-cruiser Intervention." After a few moments his stare became unnerving. As she waited in silence for him to talk, she found herself rubbing the bed sheet between her fingers.

"Is there any more information you wish to impart?" His mouth moved but the rest of his face was completely still.

"Not really. Only that we will be arriving at the planet capital in a few minutes. Would you like to remain in bed and be wheeled out?"

"No," he said with determination, but as an after thought he continued, "however, I will need some kind of support in order to walk."

"Yes, your friend told me about that. It won't be a problem." 947's face took on a strange expression. Alarm? Confusion? It lasted less than a second before his face returned to its former emptiness. Why would he be afraid? She hadn't offended him somehow had she? She looked to 946 who was watching 7 with a mixture of surprise and concern. At least he seemed to have some kind of natural emotion.

"I see." Silence followed. Conversation had never been one of Pavia's strengths. She searched for some comment to make or question she could ask but 947 didn't seem ready for a heart-to-heart. _Come on. He just climbed his way out of a flaming lab. It's normal to be a bit traumatized after something like that isn't it?_

"Do you have any questions about where we are going?"

"You said Planetary Capital. I know what a planet is and a capital. As to why we are going there, I can only make conjectures."

"The discovery of the lab was a very big deal. We have leaders, people in charge who are worried about this. They want to figure out what happened and who was responsible." She opened her mouth to continue but was cut off by 947's voice.

"And we will be witnesses in Dr. Levitsky's trial." She thought she heard a trace of frustration in his voice. Too slow for him! She heard a voice over the cruiser's speakers.

"We have arrived at the Planetary Capital. All officers to deck one."

"That means us too," she told them. 947 sat up and Pavia put a hand on his back to support him. However, the moment she touched him, she felt his body stiffen, muscles tensing. Quickly she removed her hand and called out to a passing medic for 947's crutches.

She watched as he adeptly positioned them under his arms and followed behind her with long strides, barely touching his feet to the floor. Yes, he was crippled, but certainly not helpless. Upon reaching the first deck, Pavia found all her officers gathered. However, while their bodies were stiff at attention, their eyes never left the two little boys at her side. Behind the officers, she could just see Levitsky, handcuffed and surrounded by guards. He gave her a sly smile. She could hear his voice in her head, taunting her. _Impressive array of idiots you have gathered here. You really think you can control me?_ He lost, she reminded herself. He's the one going to jail, and there's no way he can change that. So why do I feel like he's beaten me?

The hatch of the hover-cruiser opened and Pavia led the boys out into the chaos of the evening. The lights of police cars flashed all around. The city officers stood ready to take custody of Levitsky. On her left she recognized the city mayor, Mr. Prideaux and had begun walking towards him when she realized the boys were no longer with her. She looked back and was shocked to see 946 backed up against the outside of the hover-cruiser. His face was frozen in fear, eyes wide, fists clenched. 947 stood next to him, trying desperately to talk to him. "Medic! We need a medic here!" She called out, but 947 shook his head violently. Officers yelled, sirens blared, and through the pandemonium she heard a high pitched, yet utterly confident voice commanding them.

"Turn off the lights," 947 practically screamed. "The blue lights, you need to turn them off." The officers stared at him incredulously. He glared at them. "Now!" Something about him made them obey. Though maybe it was just the shock of hearing an eight-year-old use such an authoritative voice. It took a long minute for the officers to reach their vehicles through the crowd. Meanwhile 946 stood petrified. Clearly 947 understood it though. The lights turned off and slowly 946's face and body slackened. Confused, he turned to 947 who was still close by him. Pavia started to push her way towards them, but before she reached them, an officer approached the boys. He cuffed their hands and pushed them into the back of a car. The whole scene seemed a blur. She'd given her report; they knew the boys were innocent. There must be some mistake. Pavia made straight for the Mayor, shoving aside the policemen that stood in her way.

"Sir," she said panting when she reached the mayor, "I have talked with these boys and my opinion is that, while they are very...unusual and most likely traumatized, they are the victims of the crime we are dealing with, not its perpetrators."

"You really don't have much of a grasp on this do you." He shook his head in disbelief. "We know they are the subjects of a genetic experiment. You think we would just let them loose on the world with no idea what they are capable of." Pavia saw movement at the edge of her vision. She turned and saw the car driving away. "They are headed for the police station. We will begin questioning and the resulting information will dictate our next step." He placed a condescending hand on her shoulder. "Everything has been planned out." She shrugged it off. 


	10. Safe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6 and 7 are taken to be tested and questioned.

947 was glad to get into the vehicle. Outside he couldn't see the walls or ceiling. Everything was so open. He felt like if he jumped he would go flying up into the sky. Of course, that wasn't possible. 947 was well acquainted with the laws of gravity. Still, he found himself oddly unprepared for the feeling of being out, exposed.

  
946 was pushed in next to him, still slightly confused. For once, 947 was glad the Blue Light Room didn't affect him. These people were clearly ignorant of the effect their lights would cause. Were it not for him, it might have been half an hour before they realized what had stimulated 946's reaction. 947 recalled 933's blank face, staring petrified at the wall for hours. He couldn't afford for 6 to end up like that. Wherever they were going, he would doubtless need 946's mental abilities.

  
The vehicle sped through the capital, city lights blurring past them. "Where are we going?" 946 asked. "Genetic research center," a gruff voice replied from the front seat. These men seemed to consider them a threat. The metal bands around 946's wrists. The weapons pointed at them as they were pushed into the vehicle.

  
The door opened next to him and 947 slid out, his supports under his arms. He felt something hard against his back, pushing him forward towards a metal, boxlike building. The inside was brightly lit by long fluorescent panels. They were led through long passages before reaching a door. One of the officers placed his hand on the wall next to it and the door slid sideways into the wall. Once inside 947 was surrounded by men and women in white uniforms. They sat him down in a chair and handed him a panel. He was told to answer all the questions on the test as quickly as he could, simple puzzles and arithmetic. It was ridiculously easy. At least back in the lab, they understood what I could do. He handed back the panel and watched them mutter worriedly over it. "Here, just come over to this bed, please," one woman said. She smiled at him and beckoned with her hand. Why would she smile? What is she happy about?

  
They positioned him on the bed, holding his limbs down with cloth straps. Suddenly the bed slid back into the wall and 947 found himself in a tube. The walls seemed about to close in on him and smother him. A loud humming filled his ears and the tube lit up with a red glow. He tried to move his arms but the straps held him fast. There was no escape. He waited. Waited for the needle to protrude from the tube somewhere, stripping away the only control he had. He waited. But it didn't come. Instead a dark metal strip slid up and down the tube, whirring and flashing with light. 947 went to his control board and shut everything off.

  
When he switched his aural input back on, he could hear voices buzzing around him. Visual, on. He was in a new bed. Police officers surrounded him. They adjusted the angle of his bed so the he was in a sitting position and began asking questions, none of which he answered. What was his name? _Don't have a name_. Why did he leave the lab? _You really don't know?_ What did they do to him in the lab? _Exactly what you have been doing._  Your friend described you as "different." In what way are you different from 946? _Can't answer until I know what you want to hear. How can I know you won't kill me if you think I'm a threat?_

  
And then there was that word. Friend. Why did everyone think they were friends? He didn't need a friend. Friends were for people like 935 who had to make up for their own deficiencies by adding people. Then they could prey on the weak to make them feel strong. It was effective, but 947 didn't need it. All he had to do was stay alive and he didn't need some group of subordinates to help him.

  
Eventually the officers got tired of his silence and went to 946's bed. 6 seemed more cooperative. He calmly and quietly responded to the interrogation while the officers recorded everything he said. 947 stared at him with all his focus, hoping he might somehow catch his attention. How can I make you know what I know? They smile, but they test you, evaluate you. Don't you understand? We are not safe. We are never safe.


	11. Security

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting is called to discuss the fate of 946 and 947.

By the time he received the invitation, Mr. Brooks's usual calm was restored. He promptly sent his note of acceptance and began preparations for the meeting. He combed all the latest news on the discovery but found few additional details. At least none that were available to the public. But he knew there must be something. Something else that merited the presence of the Investigatory Police Force Captain, the mayor, one of the leading genetic scientists on the planet, and of course, himself. He knew some might question his involvement. After all, he was running for election to the Planetary Council, not making genetic regulations. Still, the world knew him as the origin of the GenetiBan, the face of the genetic experimentation restriction moment.

After dressing meticulously, he opened the door of his AVM, saying the name of his destination, the capital building, into the car's speakers. With a soft whir the vehicle moved smoothly through the streets. As soon as he reached the capital building, the door of his car opened and he stepped out onto the street where he was met immediately by Mayor Prideaux, who wrung his hand animatedly and led him into the building. They crossed the polished marble floors of the main hall and turned into a conference room off the hall. Before reaching the door, a guard ran his scanner up and down in front of Brooks' body. "Sorry sir, we just need to be sure there are no recording devices on your person. This is a secure meeting and nothing said or done may be recorded in any fashion."

"Understood." This was clearly of more importance than he had thought.

Mr. Brooks followed the Mayor into the conference room. Around the table sat a young woman who sat stiffly in her chair with a peculiarly grim expression. To her right was an older woman in a lab coat who looked rather ruffled, as though she had been pushed into the affair on short notice. The mayor sat down across from her and Mr. Brooks took his seat next to him across from the grim-faced woman. After a moment of silence, the mayor cleared his throat and began.

"I suppose we ought to get to know one another before we begin. I am Mayor Prideaux. This is Captain Grace Pavia of the Investigatory Police Force." The grim woman shot him an irritated glance. "This is Dr. Callaghan a Leader in the field of Genetics." She nodded, but with rather less confidence than might be expected. "And this is Mr. Gregory Brooks. Hopefully I don't have to explain who he is." The mayor opened his mouth to begin but was cut off.

"Three days." Spat Pavia, the grim-faced woman. "Nothing for three days. How do I carry out an investigation when every potential source of information is shut away where no one can access them."

"Captain, I regret that the delay has been so long but-"

"Wait a moment." Brooks interrupted. "Since when do we have sources of information."

"Please," the mayor said with a swift look at Pavia, "allow me to explain the circumstances. The media has told the world that no people were found in the lab discovered four days ago. This is a lie. We found Dr. Levisky, a genetic scientist once believed to be dead. He is currently in a cell awaiting trial." Dr. Callaghan stared at the mayor in disbelief.

" _The_ Dr. Levitsky?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. But that's not all. Too boys were found. Experiments 946 and 947 as they refer to themselves. Dr. Callaghan has tested them. Can you tell us what you have discovered?" Dr. Callaghan squirmed slightly under the scrutiny of the group.

"We've done our best, running all the diagnostics. It seems they have been modified genetically to enhance their intelligence." It was clear now why Dr. Callaghan seemed so nervous. She was completely out of her depth.

"Do you know how intelligent they are?"

"The IQ of the boy called 946 was approximately 194. 947 was measured at 202." The others in the room exchanged shocked glances. "However, there's something else about him."

"Other than an IQ above 200?"

"We scanned his brain. There seems to be some anomaly but we were unable to pinpoint it."

"Did you consider asking him about it himself?" Pavia asked coldly, eyebrows raised. "He is a person you know."

"We did, actually, but he never responds. I'm no psychologist, but I can tell he doesn't trust us."

"Well what would you expect? After a traumatic ordeal you take him in to be tested, interrogated. No one in their right mind would trust you. And his mind is far beyond right."

"Look, this wasn't my decision. I was only-"

"Enough!" Mr. Brooks snapped. He turned to Dr. Callaghan. "Is that all? Have you told us everything you found out?"

"The problem is, progress in the field of genetics has been almost non-existent for years." She glanced at Brooks briefly. "For good reason of course. The difficulty is, we don't have the equipment to fully examine these boys and discover what exactly has been done to them. To do so would directly violate the-"

"Yes I'm quite aware of the law Dr. Callaghan, having written it myself," Brooks said in a slightly amused tone. Dr. Callaghan nodded deferentially. "So, we have two experiments, whose abilities and mutations we cannot measure or detect." He looked around at the group. "As you know, the GenetiBan, as it is commonly known, dictates that the products of any illegal genetic experiment be immediately destroyed. We have no idea what threat these boys might pose to our society, but the question we must ask ourselves is, is it worth the risk we must take to keep them alive?"

"Let me ask you one question," Pavia said, her tone dangerous. "Have you ever met these boys."

"I didn't know of their existence until today."

"In that case, how can you presume you have the power to decide whether they live of die."

"Because I do."

"They're children." Pavia was livid. "You. You think any number of laws justify murdering innocents."

"Pavia, I'm not pushing for the execution of the law. However, we need to realize that to let these children roam free would be a risk."

"Oh so you're suggesting we confine them for life instead. Don't you understand. We are about to prosecute Dr. Levitsky for his infringement of the ban, but also for the creation, imprisonment, and subsequent murder of almost one thousand children." Murder? Why didn't they explain everything to him from the start?

"In her brief time with the boys," the mayor explained, "Captain Pavia discovered that there had been hundreds of children like them, born in the lab and held there for life, but that all had been destroyed to get rid of evidence. No doubt one of Levitsky's machinations."

"So you see." Pavia insisted. "If we imprison them, we are no better than this criminal."

"We would be following the law, not breaking it," the mayor pointed out.

"What does it matter if we are following the law? I will not lay down morality for the sake of convenience."

"Not convenience, security." Mr. Brooks retorted.

"What is my authority in this circumstance?" Pavia demanded coldly.

"You can detain them for interrogation. However, after a month, your role is of no importance." The mayor eyed her curiously.

"I will exercise that power," Pavia ordered.

"You know, I am not against you in this," Mr. Brooks said gently after a pause.

"Really?" Pavia scoffed.

"I'm not a monster. I don't want to shut them up in a cell any more than you do."

"Well then, perhaps you and Mayor Prideaux would agree to meet them?"

"I'm a busy man Pavia," the mayor stood and made for the door, "I'll leave the interrogation to you." Pavia watched him go, followed by Dr. Callaghan.

"When should I come down to the station?" Mr. Brooks asked. Pavia's shock was evident.

"Are you busy now?"


	12. Weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Brooks pays a visit to 946 and 947.

946 stared at the glass in front of him. The police station was a busy place. Everybody rushing about like those cars that swarmed the streets. There must have been important things going on, but 946 couldn't figure out what they might be. He watched the faces of the people, police officers, they were called. They all seemed to be scrunched up in worry like the whole world was depending on what they did. It must be scary, knowing that other people depended on you to do everything you were supposed to. 946 glanced at the wall to his right. On the other side was 947. He'd watched the officers put him there. It was nice, knowing he was close by, but in a way, it was good there was a wall between them. He knew if 947 had been put in the same cell as him, he would be just as indifferent, just as blank-faced as always. Strange that solitary confinement made 946 feel less alone. 

When the officers had put him in his cell, they had been hesitant, giving him apologetic looks and they closed the glass barrier. 946 didn't mind the cell. The world outside was strange and confusing. Everywhere people. They wore strange clothes, and talked in strange ways. The little ones clinging to the big ones like parasites. Pairs of people together, their hands intertwined. And everyone had names. He heard them calling out to one another. Help! Stop! Hurry! Why was everyone so busy?

946 looked back out at the hallway. A door opened across the room. Pavia, the lady from the hover-cruiser, walked in, but she was accompanied by a dark-skinned man with a large chin. They walked towards 946's cell, and as they drew close, he could feel the man's piercing gaze. Pavia, however, was acting strange. Her eyes moved around the room and she rubbed the hem of her shirt between her fingers anxiously. There was something wrong. This meeting was important. Pavia placed her palm against the door frame and the glass in front of him slid away. She did the same for 947's door and he stepped out into the room. Two officers stepped in quickly as though there were an emergency, but Pavia dismissed them with a wave of her hand. 

"No worries gentlemen, I think I can keep two eight-year-olds under control without assistance, thank you." Clearly this woman didn't know the things eight-year-olds were capable of. Maybe if she had seen 935 beating 7 almost to death in that supply closet she would have wanted guards. To her, little boys seemed like a joke. Pavia led 6 and 7 out of the hallway to a small room. There were a few metal chairs scattered around and Pavia pulled four of them close together in a corner. Very close. 947 wouldn't like it.   
Everyone took their seats and the man cleared his throat to begin.

"I don't mean to alarm you by coming here." He assured them, "My name is Mr. Brooks. I'm very well known around here because of a law I wrote banning all genetic testing except in a few select circumstances." He saw the confusion on 946's face and explained. "A law is a rule that everybody has to follow. If they don't, we punish them." And we have broken the law. We are not supposed to be alive. That is why Pavia looked worried. We are in danger. "Captain Pavia brought me here to talk to you, to get to know you." 

"We have been thoroughly examined. What more do you hope to accomplish?" 947 asked, his expression characteristically nonexistent. Pavia looked at him with frustration. Things weren't going how she wanted them to. But how did she want them to go? Somehow, 946 would have to find out. 

Mr. Brooks chuckled, "Well I felt I had to see you for myself. Why don't you tell me a little about yourselves?" 947 held out his forearm in answer. The ID plaques were still on since the scientists who examined them weren't certain what to do with them. Brooks read the plaque, his eyes widening. He nodded and leaned away, a wary expression on his face. 946 watched Pavia and it was clear that things were not going according to plan. If only he knew the plan!How are we supposed to act for this man? He thought back to how Pavia had talked about them with the guards. Like they were weak. And when Mr. Brooks had talked to them, he told them not to be alarmed. Weak and afraid. That's what they were expected to be. 946 thought quickly.

He looked up at Mr. Brooks and said apologetically, "Sorry Sir, my friend is very shy. He doesn't like talking to strangers very much." He could sense 7's confusion, but the big people seemed to consider it an appropriate remark. 

"That's quite alright, it's understandable, growing up the way you did."   
Pity. He feels sorry for us. 

"What happens now that we're out? Do we have to find another lab?" He knew they wouldn't, obviously. It was a silly idea.

"No, of course not!" 

"Can I ask you something?" 

"Go ahead."

"The other boys in the lab," 947 let his voice waver slightly, "will we ever see them again?" 946 let all of the emotions of the past few days pour out of him. There were more of them than he had expected. He burst into tears. Mr. Brooks knelt down in front of 946's chair so that he could look him in the eye. 

"No, I'm afraid you won't be seeing your friends again." He took 946's hand. It felt strange, uncomfortable, but clearly it was supposed to be reassuring. "But I promise you, you will have a new home here, and a new family." Somehow 946 knew what to do. He threw his arms around Mr. Brooks's chest and buried his face in the man's shirt. He didn't think about it. It just seemed right. The man hesitated for a moment before patting him gently on the back. Mr. Brooks's shirt was rough and his body felt very strange. The whole thing was bizarre but it worked. When 6 pulled away he saw tears in the man's eyes. He won't punish us. Not now that he feels sorry for us.   
He looked to 947 who had remained completely silent and was now staring perplexed at Mr. Brooks as he said his goodbyes. Apparently he had an appointment to go to, but he promised he would see them soon. In the meantime, 946 had work to do.

* * *

Reluctant as he was to admit it, Mr. Brooks couldn't deny that Pavia's tactic had succeeded. He contacted the Mayor, formally petitioning that the boys be released after investigations were finished and the trial was over. He also notified Captain Pavia that he was officially on her side. He couldn't expect a verdict from the Mayor anytime soon of course, since Mayor Prideaux was, as he constantly reminded everyone, a busy man. Still, Pavia was a good person. Mr. Brooks had met many police officers in his career, but few showed as much determination and compassion as she had in this one case. She deserved to know who her allies were.

* * *

946 had expected to feel triumphant after his success with Mr. Brooks. Instead, he couldn't seem to stop crying. It was as if he'd pulled out some kind of stopper and now all of the tears just kept flowing out. He wanted to stop. He didn't even know why he had started in the first place, but despite all of the awkward stares and concerned looks, he couldn't make himself calm down. A worried-looking Pavia led him back to his cell, but instead of opening the door, she spoke into a panel on the wall. All the time 946 could feel 7's eyes on him. 946 wiped his eyes furiously but only brought on a fresh wave of sobbing. Through his tear-blurred eyes, 946 could just make out 7's face. He seemed...confused. A man and a woman in white coats approached and took him gently by the arm leading into a small, bare room with a bed. They both smiled a lot and asked him what was wrong, and how he felt, but he couldn't answer. How was he supposed to explain to these people how it felt to know that almost everyone he had ever known was gone forever.


	13. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Levitsky requests to talk with 947.

~~~~~~~~~~~~"Levitsky has made a request." Pavia paused a moment considering the two faces on her monitor.

"Yes?" prompted Mr. Brooks.

"He has asked for a private conversation with 947." The Mayor rubbed his face wearily, but Mr. Brooks's gaze sharpened.

"Hmm. It could be risky. He could attempt some kind of psychological manipulation." 

"True," Pavia acknowledged, "but I've done some research into this man and while we have no way of knowing what went on in that lab, the accounts of those who worked with him describe him as a clear-thinking, principled visionary."

"A lot could have gone wrong in the last few decades." The Mayor's brow was furrowed. "Maybe he wasn't always a sadistic murderer, but his morals have certainly gone a bit slack." There was something nagging at the back of Pavia's mind. Somehow, it all didn't seem quite right.

"It could be a potential source of information though," Mr. Brooks suggested.

"We've barely gotten a word out of him so far." Pavia nodded, recalling her own failed attempt. Then it hit her. 

"Back on the hovercraft, I talked to Levitsky," she began. "He asked me if a crippled boy had made it out. I don't know how he knew, but somehow he did." She fixed the two men with a determined gaze. "There's something about that boy, and this might be our only chance to find out what's really going on." Mr. Brooks nodded, but Mayor Prideaux seemed unconvinced. 

"We'll monitor the conversation," Brooks explained. "If anything seems to be going wrong, we'll intervene." The Mayor seemed distracted, but nodded in agreement. "Don't worry, Mr. Prideaux, we won't let anything happen."

* * *

As hard as he tried 947 couldn't seem to get 946's face out of his mind. 947 had seen boys cry before but never like that. Pavia entered his cell and sat next to him. "6. What's wrong with him?" 947 asked promptly. Pavia seemed confused.

"Nothing. He's just in shock. It's a normal response after people you care about have died." Pavia's critical gaze made no sense. Was she saying that 947 should be crying too? Maybe he needed to explain to 6 that all of boys had to be killed. Maybe he just didn't understand. 

After a moment of silence, Pavia told him of Levitsky's request. 947 readily agreed. No doubt he would have to sit through pointless entreaties and propositions as Levitsky tried to win him over. In the end, however, 947 knew he would be the winner. He had nothing to lose, while Levitsky's situation was anything but stable. And if he could maneuver the conversation, 947 might even glean some information from the man.

 

The guards led 947 through the prison corridors, stopped in front of a darkened wall and one placed a hand on a wall panel. The wall became transparent revealing the disheveled face of Dr. Levitsky. The guards stepped away but kept 947 in sight.

"7." Levitsky murmured. "I'm glad you came." 

"What do you want?" Levitsky seemed strangely reluctant to meet 947's eyes as he replied.

"I have some information, important information, that I need to give you." What? Why would he volunteer information? He must have some ulterior motive. 947 stared at him expectantly, face blank.

"Listen 7-"

"947," he snapped, surprised by the sharpness of his own tone. Levitsky stared at him.

"My apologies, 947," he continued, "I have two very important things to tell you. Firstly, I did not work alone. My colleague, Dr. Payne, escaped the lab during the break in. No doubt he will try to start again, using the genetic alterations we made to you. The destruction of the lab was an unfortunate setback, but he will continue nonetheless." 

He remembered 946, wiping his eyes furiously as he tried to hide his tears. Screwing up his face in pain when he thought no one could see. But 947 was watching. "There were people in that lab."

"Yes, 947, I know that. I was against the whole plan; destroying the experiments during a break in, but Payne insisted." Weak. I thought he was being logical; he was only giving in. "Payne is a brilliant man and he was a good partner, but he and I differed when it came to how our creations would fit into the world when they eventually left the lab." 947 felt a sudden urge to leave. Just turn and walk away. But still had questions he needed to answer.

"Why tell me and not the government?" 

"Well that brings me to the second bit." Levitsky took a deep breath before continuing. "In all my years of experimentation in the lab, there was one problem I never solved. As our first experiments reached prepubescence, the biological changes triggered a fatal condition. Payne developed a serum to treat the condition, but it was never used. In order to keep the lab running and producing more experiments, we had to eliminate old experiments, so we initiated the testing system." 947's head was spinning, his brain struggling to accept what he had heard while not missing a word Levitsky spoke. He was going to die. Within a few years he would develop a fatal condition and the only person who could cure him was on the run. "I'm sure by now you've realized what this means. Dr. Payne is your only hope for survival. You're young, but the condition is very unpredictable; it could be triggered in a few years or in a few months or in a few minutes. There is no time to to lose. The government is no doubt monitoring this conversation. They will want to initiate a search for Payne, but you need to be careful. Payne would never divulge the cure unless he thought in was in his own interest to do so." 947 nodded in understanding, but something still did not make sense. 

"Why would you tell me this? You can't hope to gain anything from it." Levitsky ran a hand through his hair and sighed in frustration before fixing 947 with his gaze.

"I was the one who designed you." Levitsky watched 947 carefully as he continued. "I'm the reason you were so different from the others." Stop, stop talking. "Payne wanted to have you killed, but I was certain you would succeed." 947 was trapped. He wanted nothing more than to run to his switchboard, shut everything off. Shut the world out. Out of his head. But he couldn't. He had to listen. "I wanted to help, but I didn't know how. There was nothing I could do." 

"Please, just stop." It took 947 a few seconds to realize that the shaky voice he just heard had come from his own lips. His hands were clenched tightly around his supports and his eyes squeezed shut. Levitsky wasn't finished though. His voice had risen in pitch, wavering constantly as though it were about to break.

"When I created you, I didn't use just any DNA, I used my own." 947 could feel his pulse elevate, but his couldn't find the switchboard. Where was the switchboard? "I know it's strange, and this is a lot to take in, but I am the closest thing to a family you will ever have." No, no. "Please, just listen. I'm telling you this because I care about you." Stop it. Stop it now.

947 could hear voices yelling behind him but he didn't care. He hobbled out of the hallway as fast as he could, moving more quickly than he ever had in his life. He felt arms across his chest. The guards tried to grab his arms but he wrapped them around his head, squeezing his eyes as tightly shut as he could. Maybe it would all just go away. 


	14. I'm here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pavia, Brooks, and 946 speculate as to the meaning of 947's reaction.

"You were right, Mr. Brooks. That conversation yielded more information than all of our investigations so far."

"Yes. I read the transcript you sent. It seems you and your team have a long search ahead."

"We have a reasonable amount to go on though." Pavia sifted through her newly acquired files. "Apparently he was raised in Boston, attended the leading school of genetics. He was arrested once for selling tainted genetic drugs. He faked his own death in 2051, a few years before Levitsky did."

"Speaking of Levitsky, it seems like he would be more than willing to give us information on Payne if it could help 947."

"You're probably right. But I think he may have to deal with us directly. 947 isn't doing too well at the moment." Mr. Brooks leaned forward in his chair, brow furrowing in alarm.

"What do you mean? Is he alright?"

"No one is entirely sure what happened. He just suddenly lost it."

"I thought we were going to keep watch and make sure nothing happened"

"Yes, and we did. The whole conversation was monitored but nothing about it gave us any alarm. According to the guards, he seemed to tense up and he backed up against the opposite wall. Suddenly he made a run for the exit, or as close as he ever gets to a run. They called for him to stop but he kept going and eventually they had to use force. Apparently he curled up in a ball on the floor and kept screaming at them to stop. They called me in to talk to him but by the time I arrived he had stopped."

"That's a good sign I suppose."

"Not for him. He had gone into some kind of comatose state. 946 explained it as "turning everything off" as a way of coping with things."

"I did get the sense he wasn't exactly a normal boy. Do you have any idea what went wrong?" Pavia racked her brains, trying to thinks of something that could've triggered the reaction, but soon her mind returned to the numerous reports she would have to file concerning the new information.

"I think I'll leave the psychoanalysis to the experts. We have bigger problems right now."

"We do have a lot of concerns, but from what I've heard, this boy hasn't exactly responded to traditional techniques."

"We have a criminal on the run."

"Yes we do, and that boy could be the key to gaining vital information."

"Fine then. The only problem is, I don't think anyone understands him."

"Has he ever reacted to anything before now?" Brooks leaned in close to the screen and fixed her with a piercing gaze."You've spent more time with him than anyone else. We need some sort of insight into what went wrong." Pavia closed her eyes and 947's empty face appeared in front of her, his voice monotone and cold. But another image nagged at the back of her mind. Flashing blue lights. And a high pitched voice screaming above the chaos.

"946," she gasped.

"What?"

"When the hover-cruiser landed, the police lights triggered something in 946, and he had some kind of panic attack. 947 started screaming at everyone to turn off the lights. That was the only time I've seen him show any kind of emotion."

"So he doesn't like seeing 6 hurt. But nothing like that has happened since, has it?"

"You remember how upset 946 was when you visited?"

"How could I forget?"

"Well, he only got worse from there."

"What do you mean? Is he alright?"

"Yes, of course. He spent a few hours with the psychologists though and he was in hysterics." Pavia saw Mr. Brooks's eyes widen in sudden understanding.

"So you're saying 947 must've connected the dots and realized Levitsky was the man responsible."

"Yes. We can't be sure of anything until we talk with him. Unfortunately, that might not be for while."

* * *

"Stop trying to protect me." 946 sighed in frustration. "I have more right to see that recording than anyone else."

"946, this contains highly classified information," Pavia insisted. "You will be briefed when it is deemed necessary."

946 noticed the frustration in her tone. She wanted to give him the information. All he had to do was give her an incentive. He turned to look at 947, lying unresponsive on his bed. "Please," he asked looking to Pavia, "I need to help him." Immediately he could see the change in Pavia's expression. "How can I help if I don't even know what's wrong?" Pavia looked conflicted, a series of emotions passing over her face. After a long moment she seemed to give in. Smiling, she looked over at 947.

"I suppose we could make an exception. I'll need to file my request though. Just wait here."  
946 grinned. Works every time. Of course, it hadn't been a lie. He did need information to help 7 and he did care about his friend's well-being. But he also saw what Pavia wanted and he needed to give her an excuse. He returned to his seat by 947's bed. There was something strangely comforting about his presence. 7 may have been an oddity back in the lab, but he was a familiar kind of odd. 6 had often imagined what it would be like to be 947. Turning off sounds and smells and feelings like flicking a switch. But people. People were hard for 7.

Pavia returned after about half an hour with a data pad in her hand. She handed it to 6 who settled himself on the edge of 947's bed and began to watch. He could have read the words in a minute but within the first few sentences something caught his notice. 'There were people in that lab' 7 had said. Why would he say that? It was illogical, since Levitsky knew well how many had died. He had killed them. Was 7 trying to impress upon him the moral weight and consequences of his actions? That made no sense either. 7 saw the others merely as evidence to be destroyed. 946 kept watching, but was soon forced to pause. This Dr. Payne held the only hope for their survival. He had to be stopped before a new lab could be created. The next section of the conversation was the most shocking. 946 watched in disbelief as Levitsky revealed his strange connection to 7. However, what alarmed him most was the look on 7's face. He had backed up against the wall, his face a mixture of fear and revulsion. When he spoke, his voice was shockingly desperate and tremulous. Mystified, 6 watched as 7 fled the room and writhed, screaming, against the restraining arms of the guards. He waited for someone to interfere but the guards were at a loss and eventually let him curl up on the ground, still screaming, with his arms wrapped around his head. 946 couldn't watch any more. The screaming just too much to take. He looked at 947, seeing him now in a whole new light. "I don't know what happened to you," he sighed aloud "but I wish you would just talk." He wasn't sure why he was talking to 7's unconscious body. Maybe he just didn't know how else to process what he'd seen. "Then again, you probably don't know what happened either." He chuckled to himself. Pavia knocked on the doorframe.

"Are you finished?" She asked cautiously. 946 stood up quickly, slightly embarrassed.

"Yes." Pavia entered the room followed by Mr. Brooks.

"And what do you think?" She asked eagerly. "We think we have an idea but we want to hear your input."

"That man....he's done terrible things, but 7 didn't care much about the other boys." Mr. Brooks furrowed his brow.

"Why not?"

"There was a group of boys who hated him. They would convene in hallways and try to intimidate him. They injured him pretty badly once, though I don't know how." Pavia looked appalled. "Then one of the boys tried to kill him in a closet. He would have if I hadn't called the emergency squad." 

"Kill him?" Pavia exclaimed, "Why would someone do that?"

"We were being tested. Those in the top five would survive. The others would be killed. Not everyone wanted to play fairly, and 7 was the most obvious target."

"So if 7 didn’t care about those boys, how do you explain his reaction?" Mr. Brooks asked. 6 hesitated.

“It was just once, when we were very small. I’m not even sure why I remember it.” Mr. Brooks frowned.

“Go on.”

“7 didn’t come to the sleeping quarters one night, his bed was empty.” 6 paused, sensing the adults’ confusion. “There was nowhere else to sleep. Every night we had to be in our quarters half an hour before lights out. It made no sense. There was nowhere for him to go.” 6 hesitated remembering the strange fear. “I couldn’t sleep that night. We barely ever talked, 7 and I, but I couldn’t stop wondering about him. I thought he was dead, someone had killed him or taken him away, and I would sleep next to an empty bed forever.”

“Did you find out what happened?” Pavia prompted. 6 shook his head.

“The next day, our teachers tried to explain it. They said he had been taken aside for ‘special instruction’ but I never really believed it. He came back eight days later. I remember counting them. And he didn’t seem to know any more than the rest of us. If anything he was behind, like he hadn’t been learning at all.” 

“Did you ask 7 about it?” Mr. Brooks asked with patient interest.

“I tried to. When he first came back to class, I asked him where he had gone. He told me he hadn’t left.” Pavia frowned deeply.

“Do you think he was tortured or brainwashed in some way?” 

“I don’t know. But if he was really getting instruction, he could have just said so, and if I wasn’t supposed to know what was happening, he could’ve at least given me a lie that made sense. Whatever they did to him, it was bad, maybe bad enough to make him hate Levitsky.”

"I see. We’ll be sure to look into it,” Mr. Brooks said. "However, we examined our evidence and came to a different conclusion."

"What was it?"

"Pavia observed how worried he was for you when you reacted to the police lights." Mr. Brooks explained. "947 then watched as you broke down from the shock and grief of losing your friends."

"What are you saying"

"He may not have cared about those boys, but he cares about you, and he saw the pain Levitsky caused you." 946 shook his head.

"No, that can't be right. You don't know him like I do he's-"

"6" 946 turned on the spot towards the bed where the voice had come from.

"6 is that you?" 947 asked, his voice shaking slightly. 6 hurried to his side.

"Yes," He replied, apprehensive. "Yes I'm here."

"Where am I?" 7 asked and 6 noticed that his eyes were blank and unfocused. "6, I can't see, I can't turn my eyes back on." 6 heard a note of panic creeping into his voice.

"It's ok 7," 6 said as calmly as he could. "Just relax. You're safe in a hospital bed. I'm here with Mr. Brooks and Captain Pavia." 7 was silent for a minute. His breathing slowed and his eyes slowly focused on 6's face.

"I can see you now."

"Anything else I can help with?" 6 asked with a grin.

"No"  
The door to the room slid open, and a woman with straight black hair poked her head around the door frame. "Excuse me," she began and Pavia rose to meet her, touching her mouth to the woman's cheek briefly. A kiss. 946 had heard that word somewhere before, but he couldn't remember what kisses were for.

"6, 7, I would like you to meet Liang. She is going to be helping you prepare for tomorrow's trial. There's no question of Levitsky's guilt, but your presence is nonetheless required."

Liang crossed the room, acknowledging Mr. Brooks with a nod, and settled herself in a chair by 947's bed. "First things first, we need to get a statement from you. If you are ready, we should do it now. But if you ever feel uncomfortable let me know, and we can stop."  
946 nodded, but 7's eyes narrowed. "Are you ok with this, 7?" 6 asked.

"Of course." 7 seemed baffled by his question.

"Well, let's start by telling me about the lab. Tell me everything you know." 946 opened his mouth to begin but 7 was faster. 6 didn't think he had ever heard 7 talk so much. He gave every relevant detail with meticulous detachedness. Relaying the events as though they had happened to someone else. 946 couldn't help but feel distressed when 7 recounted the deaths of all their unit-mates. Still, 6 understood that everything needed to be stated. The only thing 7 didn't mention was his own special abilities.

When 7 was finished, Liang asked 6 if he had anything to add. He shook his head, still a bit mystified as to why 7 had taken it upon himself to tell the whole story. As soon as Liang had said goodbye, 6 turned to 7, full of questions. But 7 was already gone. Eyes blank, hearing off. Blind and deaf to the world.


	15. He'll be fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levitsky stands trial. Things get interesting. 
> 
> (Sorry this took so long, I wanted to wait until I had written more so I wouldn't leave you on a cliff-hanger.)

"When they call you, walk up to the podium and answer their questions, just like you did with me." Liang smiled reassuringly at 6 and 7 from the front seat of the vehicle. 

"Will we both need to talk?" 6 asked.

"Yes, but it's just a formality, as you seem to be in agreement about the facts. It's silly I know but-"

Liang cut off as they turned a corner and suddenly found themselves surrounded by a swarm of reporters, all pressing in to snap pictures through the vehicle's windows.

"This is ridiculous" Pavia snapped from the front seat. "I need officers down here, the press needs to be restrained," Pavia barked into her comm device.

"Sorry Captain, our force is concentrated around Levitsky's transport."

"I don't need much, just a few officers and simple plastic barrier. We can barely move."

946 gazed out of the window, craning his neck upward to see the towering structure of the planetary justice center, a huge silver construction that seemed to loom over them. Lights flashed jut outside his window as cameras were pressed up the glass, microphones jutting out from the mass of faces. 946 turned to the seat across from him, only to find that 7 had gone rigid, his eyes glassy and unresponsive. 

Bad time. How was he supposed to wake him up? 6 tried his best to tune out the squabbling from the front seat and cacophony outside. What would 7 turn off? He knew from experience that if 7 had turned everything off, he was unreachable. But 7 was logical. Well usually, he amended, recalling 7 screaming and writhing in the recording. Still, he wouldn't turn everything off now unless he had to, right? Flashing lights, so no sight. Yelling, loud noises, so no hearing. But touch. He wouldn't mind that would he?

946 nudged 7's arm gently. No response. 6 carefully rubbed his hand up and down 7's arm. No response. 6 began to doubt himself. How would he even know it's me? It's not like I've ever touched him like this before. Still he had to try. 6 lifted 7's hand and placed it between his own, cocooning it cautiously as though it would shatter at the slightest movement. Maybe the warmth, softness or just the pure strangeness of it would be enough to call 7 back to the world.

They were moving again, crawling towards the building through a path that parted the crowd. "Ready to go, boys?" Liang asked, glancing back at them.  
"Yes" 6 jumped at the voice beside him. Sure enough 7 was clearly back, his now responsive eyes, trained with startling intensity on 946. 6 let go of his hand quickly, but instead of dropping to his lap, 7's hand stayed frozen in place. His face had never been more inscrutable, all his energy focused on 6 with a sharpness that was somehow more baffling than his usual blank stare.

Pavia rapped on 6's window, they had arrived. As they exited the vehicle, 7's gaze dropped, but 6 could feel him watching him still, with less intense focus, but with the same mysterious fascination. 

They passed through the large doors of the building and into the lobby. The first thing 6 notices was how high the ceiling was, towering above them in a great metal dome. Walking underneath, he felt lost, drifting, as though he could float off into the huge expanse of air above him. Their courtroom, Pavia explained was close by, and she led them through a brief series of halls before reaching a door. 6 took note of the high ceiling and rows of uncomfortable looking metal seats as he was led in. As soon as he was seated, everything settled into a eerie lull. 6 sat placidly as people filed in, paced back and forth, made announcements. However, in a moment, the atmosphere changed, becoming suddenly sharp, expectant. Levitsky was led into the courtroom, heavily guarded, and the eyes of room followed his every move. 6 could sense 7 tense slightly beside him, but he didn't seem to be in any distress, so 6 let him be. Levitsky was led to a special raised platform. A tired-looking woman in a special raised chair, began questioning him. He kept his head down, his expression invisible, but his posture was impeccable, proud even.

"Name"

"Fyodor Antonovich Levitsky"

"You stand accused of infringement of the Genetic Drugs and Experimentation Ban, and for first degree murder 

"How do you plead?"

"Guilty" He looked up, a wry smile on his face.

"You do not wish to say anything to this court in your defense?" For the first time, Levitsky's eyes swept the room, coming to rest when they found 946 and 947. He lingered on them for a long moment before turning back to the woman.

"It's amazing," he began, his voice surprisingly conversational, "the seductive power of practicality. It convinces you that you have no choice. Only a monster could choose to put aside morals. There was no choice for me." He took a deep breath and continued, "You, you don't understand what it was like. I tried so hard to convince myself that what I was doing was right, was justified. Before long I could no longer push aside my conscience, but it was too late. Atrocities had become necessities. And I wanted nothing more than to escape, to erase what had been done. Impossible of course, so instead I rebelled. Against logic, against practicality. I created him." 6's vision burned. He couldn't stop the memories: 7, on the closet floor, in the prison, screaming and running. After everything 7 had been through, everything this man had put him through, he talks about 7 like a project, and accomplishment. The judge interrupted his thoughts.

"Enlightening, Dr. Levitsky, but your sentence is clear, despite any extenuating moral-" 

"I am not trying to help myself; no one can do that." Levitsky spat sharply, venom in his voice. "I am trying to help you."  
Silence. The courtroom rang for a moment. 

"I wish I were a man who would need these chains, but you need fear no violence from me. Corruption is not a aggressive negative force, it is merely a passive, moral negligence." 

"We did not call you here to lecture us. If you have no witnesses in your defense, we call up the prosecution."

6 and 7 were led to the witness stand and the questions began. It surprised 6 how easily he could answer, as if through all the practice, the repetition, death had become nothing more than words, pain, just a phrase. He hoped 7 felt the same way. He couldn't tell.

When they sat back in their seats, a brief break was called. 

"There's a bathroom in the lobby."

"Do you need to use the bathroom, 7?" 6 asked. 

"In a way, yes." 6 looked at him for a moment, noting the distant look in his eyes. He nodded and rose to approach Pavia

"7 needs to use the restroom, it's just outside, in the lobby."

"Of course. Would he like a security officer with him? There's no danger but if it would help him feel safe..." 6 thought back to the incident in the vehicle. 7 was anything but predictable, still, 6 might be able to help.

"It's ok. I'll go with him. Just in case."

946 was surprised to find the lobby full of people. They rushed back and forth pulling big cases. Across the room, he could make out the sign that he had been told signified the bathroom. He turned to point it out to 7, but of course, he had already seen it and had redirected himself towards it. 6 felt a tapping on his shoulder and turned to see a young woman holding a piece of paper in her hand. 

"Excuse me," she said, her speech halting and distorted, "I need to find room, 33 please, I am late." 6 glanced back just long enough to see 7's head disappearing behind the backs of people rushing past. He'll be fine. He always is.

Turning back to the woman he looked at the paper she held. It seemed to by some sort of guide to the building, As quickly as he could, he located the room and explained how to get there as clearly as he could. She thanked him, and he nodded in response before resuming his trajectory across the room, trying to shake the feeling that he would drift up into the metal dome hanging above him. 

As he approached, 6 searched the passing crowd. Had 7 had time to use the bathroom already? Would he wait for 6, or just go back to the courtroom? 6 stood next to the bathroom'a entrance the wall at his back anchoring him. Two minutes, he told himself, two minutes and he would go in. He didn't make it past the first. What if 7 had had another breakdown. The crowds and loud people. What if he didn't even make it across the lobby. 6 took a deep breath. Check the bathroom first, you're probably worrying for nothing. 6 half-ran through the doorway, only to be faced with a maze of stalls. As covertly as he could he dashed down the rows of doors, checking for crutches under the stall doors. 

Just as he was about to give up, he reached the last stall, the handicapped stall, against the wall. The door was ajar. He pressed an already shaking hand against it, and peered around the door. The blood drained from his head. He gasped for breath, his chest tightening, constricting. He tried to back out of the stall but his back hit the edge of the doorway and he was on the floor. 

The floor.

"You ok kid? Do you need an ambulance?"

Crutches

"Stay with me, buddy. You got parents nearby? Let's find your parents, ok?"

The Dome, he was drifting

"6, what's wrong? It's Pavia, I need you to talk to me."

"Crutches"

"What was that?"

"Crutches on the floor"

* * *

In the darkness there was fear. It was tight, close and rough, barely enough space to breathe, not that 7 could have moved if he had wanted to. His limbs felt like liquid, unresponsive. 

But he barely noticed. There was something else, turning his stomach, pressing up into his lungs, knotting his throat as though it was pushing up into his brain to tell it what was wrong. It never made it there, and 7 was left with only pressing. Leaving his stomach hollow and his chest ready to burst.

And the darkness mocked him.


	16. Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7 wakes up. Pavia talks to Levitsky and Brooks.

"Shouldn't we, you know, be nice to it. Tell it not to worry. I thought kids liked that."

"For God's sake, it's not a person. Just because it has shown a few eccentricities doesn't mean we should treat it like a kid." Payne surveyed the faces of his assistants. Pitiful.

"This is critical, people. It has been conditioned to expect danger, deception. The Police have given us a leg up by lying, pretending to be sympathetic, but the moment it senses you are hiding anything from it or treating like a child we lose everything." He studied the faces again, noting the varying reactions, from firm understanding to doubt and uncertainty. "Follow me," he barked, gesturing to the two with the most resolution in their eyes.

* * *

947 was burning. His head throbbed and felt too heavy to lift. But the bed he was somehow lying on had no straps, no restraints. That was good. He had been awake in the vehicle, fully alert though incapable of moving. Then something had happened. Light and pain and then nothing. Now the burning, churning, his insides cooking themselves. He immediately went to his switchboard shakily shutting off everything he could find, but nothing happened. The pain was incessant, and 947 knew it took more than a normal illness to disable his switchboard. He immediately remembered that conversation, and what that man, had told him about the illness. After all, he'd said it could be triggered at any time. He made himself take deep breaths, the way he'd seen 6 do when he was distraught. It didn't work, not that it should have; 6 was different. 947 tried to distract himself, but the room around him was mostly empty, with only a few medical devices near the bed, the walls a slightly dingy white. Nothing of interest.  
The door opened and a tall man with a sharp, angular face walked in followed by two assistants. 947 expected the man to sit but he didn't.

"947?" The man asked. "Can you hear me?"

947 nodded, afraid his throat would tear apart if he spoke.

"Good. My name is Dr. Payne, you may have heard of me." 947 had, but he couldn't think about it. Not that conversation. "I imagine you are in some serious discomfort now, and you probably have some idea why." Again 947 nodded. "As you might know I have the serum that can cure you. I want to administer it, but I need your verbal permission, as you are not in immediate danger." He fixed 947 with a unflinching gaze.  
947 steeled himself. "Do it." He ground his teeth against the pain. Anything to stop the pain.

"Alright, I'm going to give you an injection. You're going to have to stay still, and it's going to hurt." One of Payne's assistants stepped forward with a syringe and handed it to him. "Are you ready?"

947 nodded, his head protesting against the motion. He closed his eyes as he felt the needle enter his arm. Ice spread through his veins, seeped into his bones. Within seconds, his teeth were chattering. He looked up at Payne and his assistants, who were holding down his arm to keep him in place. He searched Payne's eyes for doubt, assurance. He found nothing but a sharp glint of... something. The syringe was empty and Payne backed away. "You're going to need to sleep this off. You'll be brought blankets, water, and if you need anything else, hold the button on this panel down" he handed 947 a small metal rectangle with a green button, "and tell me what you need." He disposed of the syringe and an assistant produced a metal rod which she passed over his hands. Sterilizer. He exited the room, the door clanging shut behind him. The assistants placed blankets over him, one of them giving him a little smile as he tucked them around his shaking shoulders. He curled up as tightly as he could, still dazed from the pain's release despite the biting cold. His hand felt warm though, a shadow of touch. Warm and solid and unquestioning. If only the pressing would stop, he could be happy.

* * *

Pavia was tired. It registered somewhere in the back of her mind that she had been working too long. Liang had practically begged her to come home, sleep, do something, but she couldn't. Right under her nose. They'd taken him from right under her nose. She palmed her way into the maximum security section of the Central Planetary Prison and a guard led her to Levitsky's cell. She found him on his knees, sitting back on his heels, his hands clasping the fabric of his pants, his head hung low. He was muttering furiously in a language she had never heard, but assumed must be Russian.

"Non-standard languages are rare these days."

"What do you want, Captain."

"No small talk today?" He didn't respond, as still and silent as a statue. "Fine. 7's been taken." Levitsky' s head snapped up.

"You had him in custody did you not?" Levitsky's voice was deadly calm.

"We did but at the courtroom he went to the bathroom and-"

"-No one went with him?"

"6 did, but they were separated. When 6 found his crutches in the bathroom he immediately knew what had happened, it was amazing actually."

"Yes, yes, he's wonderful, what happened?" Levitsky's voice was mocking, laced with venom.

"He was so upset he could barely speak, but 6 reasoned that someone must have tranquillized 7 from an adjacent stall and got him out of the bathroom in a suitcase, so no one would notice."

"And what has been done to find him? You have checked security cameras, no?"

"Yes, but we don't exactly have much to go on. There were hundreds if not thousands of men with suitcases big enough to fit a little boy, not to mention there were two entrances to the bathroom, we don't know which he could have exited from. He might even have stayed in the bathroom for a few minutes to throw us off."

"Surely this is not why you are here."

"No, at least not exactly. We need your help."

"Why would I help you? You have just told me how your incompetence allowed my- 947 to be kidnapped. I am not in a charitable mood."

"We need to know everything you know. Who could have done this? What would they want?"

"You are the police captain, not I."

"Could it be Payne?"

"Of course, anything is possible. But in the lab he considered 7 a waste of our resources. Why he might take interest in him now is beyond my understanding."

"There's one more thing. After 6 figured out what happened, he worked himself into a fit. Today he woke up and the nurses said that there is something wrong, but the readings mean nothing. All 6 could tell us was that he felt that his whole body was heating up."

"I'm not a doctor."

"You know what I'm asking. Is this the condition you told 7 about, the one only Payne can cure?"

"At this stage I cannot be certain, but the symptoms are correct, and often the condition is triggered by significant psychological trauma."

"How long does he have?"

"A month, perhaps less." Pavia closed her eyes for a second, gathering herself.

"And you're sure there's nothing we can do?"

"Yes. But for his sake, let us hope that Payne did indeed take 947, otherwise, there is little hope for either of them."  
As soon as Pavia returned to her office she filed a request. All known information on the background of Dr. Levitsky. Perhaps it would lead to nothing, but something was missing, something vital.

* * *

Mr. Brooks hesitated before pressing his call button. He wanted to help. Really. But he took no pleasure in delivering this news to Pavia.

"Brooks, I hope you have something good to tell me because I have nothing good to tell you."

"What do you mean?"

 

"I just talked to Dr. Levitsky. 6 is dying. We need to find Payne in the next month."

"Good God." Brooks shook his head. "But I'm afraid we'll need to work even quicker than that."

"Quicker than one month?"

"Yes. Mayor Prideaux has reminded me that you can only hold him in custody for two more weeks."

"Shit."

"I know it may seem pointless, but we need to make sure he'll have a life worth living if he does survive."

"I have my hands full with the search right now. But I'll get Liang on the case with you, she's the best in the business."

"Anything helps, Pavia."

"Of course." Her face slipped briefly, its sternness melting for a moment. "I just came back from the hospital. After Levitsky told me how long he had, I knew I would have to tell 6. It's his right, and he would have figured it out sooner or later I know. But..." she trailed away, letting him read the rest of her story on her worn face.

"I understand. How did he take it?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

* * *

It's my fault. Why did I stop? I could've made him stop, made him wait. I could've told the lady I was in a rush. Anything would have been better than leaving him alone. Alone. The nurses say I'm sick. Pavia says I'm dying. I don't care. I know I should. But I'm alone, and it's my fault, and that's worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, please leave kudos and comment to let me know your opinions.


	17. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Payne talks with 7. 6 tries to convince Pavia to let him help the search for 7.

7 woke up cold. Only for a second. He didn't want to feel it. Off. His switchboard was working again, but he almost didn't notice because the pressing was back. The pressing was in his throat and couldn't breathe. It was choking him. He checked his switchboard again and again. Dilated his windpipe. Regulated his diaphragm. Everything worked, but the pressing was still there. 

"7? Your readings indicate that you are awake." The voice came from the device Payne had given him.

"Yes"

"As you have no doubt noticed, we have provided you with crutches, supports to help you walk." 7 looked around. They were propped up right against the bed. He hadn't noticed. "If you need to use the bathroom, you'll find it outside your door, down the hall, the last door on your right." 

7 placed his supports under his arms and pushed through the door. The hall outside was dingy, concrete walls crisscrossed with pipes and wiring. The hall had eight doors not including his own, all made of sturdy metal. There was sound, a churning, clanging sound that seemed to come from everywhere, though it wasn't loud. But he could make out something clearer, a voice perhaps. Sight, off. Feeling, off. Everything but his hearing. A dark oblivion of sound. Only sound. And he could hear the voices. 

"The station is equipped against air attacks. Anything that enters their skyspace without permission is blown to bits. I'm sorry Dr. but it can't be done."

"What better option do we have? They've got 946 with them and it's only a matter of time before they trick him into finding us."

"Then we move."

"Where? This is the best-hidden base we have, and the most well-equipped. We're staying here and finding a way to stop them before they get to us."

"But we have 947 now. We could use him as leverage. Stall them long enough to negotiate."

"Have you forgotten the GenetiBan? He has no rights up there. If they destroyed him with the rest of the base, they would be killing two birds with one stone."

"Look Payne, if you want to hit the station we may need to start scoping out specialists. I'm just not your man." 7 heard a door close. He rushed to his switchboard and turned everything back on. Need to get to the bathroom. Otherwise they will be suspicious. 

When 7 left the bathroom, he found Payne in the hallway. 

"947," he smiled grimly. "I imagine you have some questions for me."

"Yes"

"Follow me." Payne led him to a door in the middle of the hall. He opened it and held it so 7 could enter. Inside it was still dirty but far more organized. Computer monitors took up most of the opposite wall. Payne sat and beckoned for 7 to do the same. "I believe I owe you an explanation. My manner of transporting you here was, impolite to say the least." 7 nodded. "I'm afraid we couldn't risk trying to negotiate your release. I am a wanted man and they wouldn't have listened. As to my motives, I found my plan to be to both of our advantages so I acted on it. I knew you're life was threatened by the GenetiBan as is mine, but I also knew that their reservations about you wouldn't have stopped them from using your abilities."

"How would they do that."

"I can't say for sure, but there are ways. They could convince you that you were taking a test, an assessment, but in reality the test would be real problems that they were unable to solve. Then they would have your answers, answers that could lead to criminals like myself. This is where my own self interest comes in."

"But they still have 6."

"You're right. Unfortunately we couldn't take you both."

"They could use 6 to find us."

"Yes. We're working on that now. I'm sending out for specialists to work out a way to neutralize the station, incapacitate the police."

"What kind of specialist?"

"We haven't determined that yet."

"You don't need a specialist. I can do it."

"That's not why you're here."

"I know. But I'm here. And I can do it."

"You're sure?"

"Does it matter if I'm not."

"I'll get you some manuals. Let me know what you need."

* * *

Pavia showed her ID to the receptionist and waited looking into the window of 6's private room. 6 lay in his bed, wearing the same distant gaze she had seen when she delivered Levitsky's information. But as his nurse approached him to tell him he had a visitor, he shifted, breaking his trance and yawning. He rubbed his eyes sloppily, his small fists pressed ineptly to his still-bright eyes and Pavia felt something catch in her throat. He's sharp and smart, but he rubs his eyes like a child. She was startled by a tap on her shoulder as the nurse beckoned her in. 

"How are you feeling?"

"No different." Pavia took a seat next to his bed. "How is the search going?"

"It's slow, but we're hard at work."

"So, you haven't found him." 6's face fell slightly.

"7? I'm afraid not. But we are looking through all the security footage. We'll find him soon."

"But you don't know who took him."

"No, not yet."

"So you have no idea where he is." Pavia didn't answer. "I want to help."

"6, I'm sorry, but we can't let you. Your very existence is against the law. We can't afford the legal risk."

"But you need help. You're stuck."

"We don't really have much to go on, but I promise-"

"Don't." 6's face was suddenly screwed up, his voice tight. "Please... don't say that." Pavia waited, caught between confusion and concern. "Don't promise me, don't ask me to trust you."

"I'm not lying to you."

"I saw the way you looked at him, the way everyone looked at him. Like you were scared, like he wasn't even human."

"That's not true. We really are doing our best."

"That's not enough. You know it isn't." He fixed her with a piercing gaze, his eyes searching hers desperately for hope. "Let me help."

"In your condition, you should really be-"

"What, resting? I don't have a cold, I'm dying. Even if we find Payne and get the serum, I could still be killed just for being alive."

"Actually, that's why I'm here. We need to meet with Mr. Brooks to prepare your defense."

"It doesn't matter." His voice wavered.

"Don't give up. You have Mr. Brooks himself on your side."

"You're missing it, you're missing everything!" Pavia had never seen him so worked-up. "I don't care about the trial, and I don't care about Payne or anything he's done, I just...I have to find him. He's gone and I, I..." 6 was crying again and somehow he was in her arms. She wasn't sure if she had reached for him or he for her. All she knew was that she had to protect him. The small, bright-eyed genius with his clumsy child hands.

* * * 

"I have received a report"

"What? That's not possible, Dr. Payne."

"Apparently you thought smiling at it would be a nice touch."

"What are you talking about."

"Tucking it into bed, did you give it a goodnight kiss too?"

"All due respect, Sir, but I think you're overreacting. You never said we had to be cold, just that we couldn't let him suspect deception."

"That is precisely why you need to be cold. He distrusts warmth." 

"Sir-"

"You're dismissed."


	18. Child

Pavia eagerly opened the reply to her request. She read through the initial facts: Levitsky's enrollment at Moscow Academy of Genetics and Bioengineering, his initial research with Payne, who apparently had taken him under his wing and opened all sorts of doors, the shutdown of his school and all his research when the GenetiBan was put into effect. But when she tried to go farther back, she was quickly blocked, a message appearing on her screen. 

You have attempted to access information that is restricted. Clause 14 of the Ban on Genetic Drugs and Testing dictates that, to ensure equal opportunity for all, all records of genetic specialization, fabrication, or lack thereof are unavailable to employers, officials, or any persons whose purpose is unrelated to the biological health of the individual in question. This is a protective measure to ensure that those born prior to the enforcement of the Ban are neither given priority nor faced with discrimination based on the availability of genetic enhancements to their respective families. Please respect the importance of our citizens' privacy.  
-This Message is from the GenetiBan Enforcement Committee

Pavia frowned, confused. She hadn't asked for information about whether or not he was a natural conception. All she had requested was general information; his hometown, his family. It made no sense. She was interrupted by a knock on her door.

"Come in." Liang entered. "What are you doing here, Sophia? It's late, you should rest." Liang frowned.

"As should you."

"Fair point."

"But while we're both up, I have some questions about 6 and 7." Sophia took a seat opposite Pavia. "Mr. Brooks and I have a strong defense. They are, as far as we know, innocents."

"Are you insinuating something?"

"No. It's just the facts." Liang crossed her legs carefully. "But we need to be sure of them before we vouch for their behavior."

"They're children."

"Yes, but children whose minds we can't explain. We don't have the technology to understand them. We can't prove they are dangerous, but we can't prove they aren't."

"What do you need from me?"

"I need you to promise to tell me everything you find out, regardless of whether or not you like it." Pavia's brow furrowed.

"I haven't been lying to you."

"That isn't what I'm saying, Grace."

"Then what? I don't see how asking me to question 6's mental stability is going to help anything."

"Please, just listen to me. Don't take this the wrong way. I've met 6 and 7. I like them, and I think they have every right to live." She reached forward, taking Pavia's hand in hers. "But I'm not sure you are in the best position to judge them objectively, especially 6." 

"And what if they're harmless." Pavia pulled her hand from Liang's. "Are they supposed to spend the rest of their lives being treated like criminals just because because we can't prove they aren't?"

"That isn't what I'm arguing. I'm on your side legally, but I just think we should be careful. They've both exhibited inexplicable behavior." 

"Not 6."

"What about the incident with the police lights when he arrived?"

"He didn't do anything. How could that be a risk?"

"It isn't the incident itself as much as its implications. If such a powerful response could be triggered by something so seemingly harmless, how do we know it is the only response they've conditioned him to have. Either of them could have been brainwashed or tortured in ways we can't detect or keep in check." 

"So we investigate, we ask Levitsky, question Payne if we find him. They deserve to be free." How could Sophia think of them so coldly? They couldn't be held accountable for any atrocities done to them.

"Just let me ask you one question. What do you think is going to happen to them if we win this case? Adoption? You think they're just going to go home with some nice family and lead normal lives?"

"Why not?" Pavia crossed her arms stubbornly.

"Because they aren't normal. They aren't like other kids. They don't even understand what parents are, what a family is. They're smarter than any adult, yet they know nothing about how the world works. I believe they can be happy. I believe they should have rights. But I think you need to adjust your expectations."

"Let me ask you one question." Pavia locked her eyes on Liang's. "Do I need to find a new lawyer?"

* * *

The work was bliss. 947's room was full of manuals, engineering, computer, circuitry. A chaotic mix of digital and paper, whatever could be found. Payne's researchers had scrounged to find any blueprints and technical layouts of the station, and 947 had everything he wanted. Payne's scientists had been trying to destroy the place, using explosives, electric shocks, sabotaging their water or electricity, but it was all too blunt. Stupid. After the first few days of investigation, 947 could see that using brute force in any way would be ineffective. The systems were too sophisticated, too well-protected from crude hacking or terrorism. All he needed was subtlety. A way to use the system's natural programming to his own advantage. 

947 turned off everything. What is something the Station would automatically do? He recalled the sturdy glass panels that would slide open and shut as people passed. Doors perhaps? If they could be closed permanently...He began to formulate a sequence in his head but soon stopped as he realized its futility. It was far too forceful, far too foreign. The system would hunt it out like a body reacting to a pathogen. He would have to go deeper. Find the fundamental impulses of the system. What would require the least security checks and delays? What does the station do without thinking? If I can get inside and control that impulse the system won't even know it's me. If I go deep enough I am indistinguishable from any other command within the system itself. But what is my disguise? He turned his vision on briefly as he searched layouts and blueprints for any sort of emergency response. Their alarm system was extensive but ultimately useless, except as a diversion. But are fires and natural disasters the only concern? What about criminals. The really dangerous ones go to maximum security sector. But what if someone surprised them? What if a criminal got loose in the station? They would have to stop him from escaping, from moving around within the station. 947 went back to the maps. Nothing explicit, but he saw that at critical sector junctions, the walls were thicker, leaving space inside to hold a 1 foot thick retractable barrier. So I tell the system someone has escaped, the system goes on lockdown. It doesn't trust anyone who tries to disable it because that's what the criminal would want to do. So who does it trust? Pavia. Maybe the second tier of command. They would have a code, a code that only they knew, so that only those with a certain amount of authority could decide when lockdown was cancelled. But how do I prevent her stopping it. Maybe if I knew the code? No. The system would notice a new input it would have to keep careful track of who was using the code. But what if he could make the system distrust her. If I convinced the system that she was the criminal. The body betrays itself, fights itself. And if I move fast enough, I'll be in control. 

Now all there was was to move from abstract conception to physical reality. It would require parts, and he immediately picked up his panel and spoke, listing what he would need. He would have them by tomorrow, Payne promised. Good. No questions. Payne is smart to trust me; I am not a child.

The next day, 947 was moved to the main computer room. There was an expert there to help him, but 947 found him useless. They had both read the same manuals, studied the same systems, only 947 already had them stored in his brain, every word and diagram at his disposal instantly. The computer specialist was slower, capable of only the simplest theoretical thinking and the most basic conceptual connections. Never before had 947 been given so much to read, to learn, and he found he could absorb and retain knowledge indefinitely. His brain was not full, and it probably never would be, but there was enough to keep other thoughts out. That was good. 

* * *

Payne noticed her. Drishti was one of the two he had chosen to meet 947, who had reported the other without hesitation after his affectionate behavior. Her report had amazed him. He had dealt with backstabbers, suck-ups, people trying to edge their way into his good graces, but her act held no trace of malice, obsequiousness, or pettiness. She served no one, wanted nothing. She chose for herself. 

Now Payne watched her from across the surveillance room. The same quiet fervor still simmered, self-contained in her every move. The room seemed to move around her, gravitating towards her sureness. Payne wanted to know more, wanted to know how deep her resolve would go, wanted to know what fed her quiet passion.

It was against the rules, his rules, for his own protection. Yet the stress of the past weeks had built up in Payne's body, though his mind would not recognize it. And after all, the rules existed to prevent comprise, weakness. How could it be weakness to fall for strength? It would mean nothing, simply clearing his body and mind of her and moving on.

Payne had slept alone for eighteen years. He did not sleep alone that night.


	19. Heavy

In the cell, time was nothing, and everything. Levitsky sat on the edge of his metal bed frame as a shiver passed through his body. Cold. How could it be cold? The cell was carefully pressurized, its temperature and oxygen content kept at optimal levels. Yet he could feel a biting chill cut into him. Levitsky stared at his hands, heavy with his acceptance papers. 

Mr. Levitsky, we are pleased to offer you a place in the Moscow Academy for Genetics and Bioengineering

He had read it a thousand times. His future. No more Sunday Mass, no preservation school, no iron gates blocking out the world. Voices drifted from somewhere in Levitsky's sector like shadowy ghosts. Guards probably. He stilled himself for a moment, listening, and one voice rang out above the others. Not a guard but ...Papa? 

"His teacher's say such wonderful things. They tell me he is the brightest in his class, always eager to learn." The wall's were thin, and he could always hear him, late at night talking with Mama. 

"We are blessed." Mama's voice now. "I thank God everyday for him." 

Levitsky's hands were shaking, gripping the papers so tight he almost tore them. But he didn't tear them. And as he ran out into the night, his hastily packed bags slung over his shoulders, he clutched them still. Heavy in his hands.

A sharp clang shook him. His head snapped up, up from his empty hands, darting around his cell in search of the noise. He was at the window. But the hallway was empty. He stopped. There were no gates in the prison. Of course. Only electric fields. Shaking he retreated to his bed, his limbs curling around one another, head buried in his arms, his twisting fingers wrapping futilely around his ears. 

Clang.

It was cold again, biting. But his footfalls were steady on the ground. He looked ahead. 

Clang.

He could see the sign through the fog, Kasimov Cultural Fundamentalist Community. The gates were tall, black and foreboding, but they ached of home. 

You are our Fyodor, our gift from God. You need not be anything else.

I tried, Papa, I tried to be more. A gift to the world. Maybe you were right, and I was not meant for the world. But I can try, I can try to be your son again. He rapped his knuckles against the thick iron, and stepped back as the gate was opened just enough for a guard to pass through. 

"Good evening," Levitsky greeted the guard, the Russian words falling strangely on his tongue after so long.

"Papers, Sir." Levitsky produced his identification, records, and student enrollment papers. The guard glanced at them briefly and pushed them back into his hands. 

"You are not permitted to enter."

"What? I lived here, all my life until six years ago." 

"You are not permitted to enter."

"Can you at least tell me why? Is there anyone else I can speak to?"

"Kasimov is a preservative community, created to counteract the aggressive homogenization of culture, to-"

"-protect the values and traditions of our ancestors. I know. I read the same textbooks you did."

"To fulfill our mission, the community has seen fit to restrict the entry of persons whose exposure to dangerous, subversive and culturally impure ideas would jeopardize the integrity of our way of life."

"Bullshit."

"Rules change in six years, Mr. Levitsky. Perhaps you should have considered that before you went off to school." The guard turned his back and walked through the gates, letting them clang shut behind him.


	20. They aren't ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pavia discovers Mr. Brooks's best-kept secret. She begins to consider what the future will hold for 6 and 7 if they survive.

It was late. Probably too late to call, but Pavia couldn't sleep without settling everything in her head, and Mr. Brooks, would have... well, if not answers, at least some clarity. But the moment his disgruntled face appeared on her screen, she forgot every reason she had had for calling.

"What? Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just..." Pavia nodded towards his face. "Your...glasses."

A look of horror passed over Mr. Brooks's face. He ripped the glasses off,  
hurriedly tucking them away.

"No, no, it's fine. I don't care. I just, never knew." Mr. Brooks looked thoroughly embarrassed, but he put his glasses back on. "How did you keep it a secret?"

"I wore contacts whenever I went out. And when people wanted to see genetic readouts, documentation...well let's just say there was a lot of lying involved."

"But now, why hide? The media would love it. A non-modified man going undercover to end the discrimination of his people."

"Would they love it? Really? They're perfectly happy with the story they've told so far, portraying me as some model of genetic perfection nobly using his own privilege to defend the rights of others. It maintains the superiority of genetic selection, even though I was trying to create equality."

"This could be exactly what the world needs," Pavia urged, "proof that a person is more than their genetic makeup." Mr. Brooks only shook his head.

"They aren't ready. The world has accepted it legally, but that doesn't mean everyone believes it. Why do you think privacy restrictions are necessary? It's because knowing whether or not someone was genetically enhanced affects the way people see them, even if they can't legally discriminate. I know, it's dishonest but I can't give it up now."

"I didn't mean to upset you. And you're right, you've done enough, enough for a lifetime." Brooks nodded tiredly. "Did I ever thank you?" Brooks's gaze sharpened, surprised.

"What?"

"Not for myself, my parents were wealthy enough to select a few characteristics, but for Liang, my wife. She would never even have been considered for law school before the ban. We owe you everything." Brooks bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"Now, why did you call me in the first place?"

"A few reasons actually. I tried to look into Levitsky’s background. It was nothing too private or specific, but I got a message from the GenetiBan Enforcement Committee denying access to the information.”

“What were you hoping to find out?’

“I heard Levitsky speaking what I would assume is Russian. I was hoping to find out where he grew up, perhaps to gain some insight into his motives. But I don’t understand what about that would be restricted.” Mr. Brooks frowned, pausing to consider.

“Have you ever heard of Cultural Fundamentalist Communities?”

“Of course, but I thought they were all dissolved.”

“Not all. When the old world system of disparate countries was officially disbanded, they were quite common. From a political standpoint it made sense to unite the countries of earth, but people didn’t give up their cultural pride easily. They formed communities all over the world and at first the planetary government tried to break them up, but before long, they found that direct opposition only fueled the communities’ determination. Instead they simply waited, and after a few generations, people became unwilling to separate themselves from society for the sake of countries that were long gone.”

“I remember learning about this in school. But they always made it seem as though the issue ended there.”

“They weren’t completely deceiving you. By the time I was born, Cultural Fundamentalist Communities were so rare, the government had stopped paying attention to them other than occasional check-ins. But in a few particularly nationalistic countries, such as Russia, the communities stayed alive.”

“But I still don’t understand why Levitsky growing up in one of these communities would say anything about his genetic makeup. I thought the communities were required to stay up to date with the medical discoveries and equipment of the rest of the world.”

“True, but genetic selection doesn’t fall strictly under the category of medicine. The Russian Fundamentalist Communities were nearly all devoted to the Eastern Orthodox Church, which has been staunchly opposed to genetic selection ever since the technology was developed.”

“So the GenetiBan Enforcement Committee knew that by telling me he was from one of these communities, they would be heavily implying that he was unmodified.”

“Exactly. If you really wanted to know more, you might be able to file a request, explaining the exact circumstances, but to be honest, I’m not sure what practical use you hope to gain.” Pavia sighed. It was frustrating, but he was right. 

“I was only curious. It seemed worth looking into.”

“You said you had several reasons for calling?” Mr. Brooks prompted and Pavia nodded, suddenly reminded of her argument for Sophia.

"I talked with Sophia. She seems to have some... doubts about what we are doing. As good a lawyer as she is, we need to make sure we're doing our best for them, and well, I'm afraid her concerns could get in the way." Mr. Brooks frowned slightly.

"I don't know what she said to you, but I can assure you she's pulling her weight. We have a strong defense in the works."

"That's a relief. Still there was one thing she said that I just can't get out of my head. She asked me what's going to happen to them, where they'll end up even if they are cleared." Pavia ran a hand over her face. "I'll confess, the more I've thought about it the less sure I am."

"Well so far all we've been able to conclude is that the ideal outcome would be to find families for them. They need to learn trust and affection, and some degree of normalcy would help them adjust to the world. However, we can't simply put them up for adoption. Those who understand their abilities might see them as some sort of prize, a trophy to show off, and those who don't understand where they're from would be completely unequipped to handle the inevitable emotional and psychological problems."

"And if we can't find families for them? What's our next option?"

"We've looked into specialty homes. Homes for exceptionally bright children, for children who've experienced trauma, but it's impossible to judge how they might react."

"I'll speak to 6 about it. He deserves a say, though we can't promise anything."

"How has he been since 7 was taken?"

"Upset. He wants to help with the search, and right now I'm inclined to let him. We haven't made any progress, and my people are losing hope."

"I won't pretend there aren't some restrictions on this- giving children access to classified information. But, like you said, there's been no progress, and a life is on the line. Sometimes the laws need to be broken for a good cause."

* * *

6 had kept himself busy in the past few days. While he had no access to any kind of news or information, he nonetheless found ways to prepare however he could. He quickly found out who the nicest nurses were, and found it took little persuasion to get them to bring him maps, manuals, even textbooks and newspapers. 6 was new to the world outside the lab, so nearly everything he could find was useful in some way. Pavia would come around. He knew it. So when 6 got his chance to help, he would need to know anything and everything that could be useful.

When his nurse came in to tell him he had a visitor, he was deep in a political article on the development of the GenetiBan. 6 now understood why everyone looked at Mr. Brooks with such awe and respect. He had changed the world, allowed people to be judged for who they are, not for their genes. And he is trying to do that for us now. Only it is not because we are unmodified, but because we are too modified. We have been changed too much.

The door to his room opened and Pavia entered.

"A little light reading I see." There was laughter in her voice, though 6 wasn't sure why it was funny.

"Have you come to take me to the station?" Pavia smiled.

"Yes, but not quite yet." Placated, 6 leaned back, putting down his article. "I need to discuss some long term issues with you. I understand that it might seem pointless to you now, with every thing that is going on. But we need to think about the future." 6's heart sank. He didn't want this conversation. He couldn't afford to hope for the future yet. "Is that alright?" It wasn't really a question.

"Yes."

"Mr. Brooks and I have been hoping to find a good place for you to stay."

"Like a school." 6 knew about schools. That was where children went to learn, and 6 knew he had a lot to learn about the world.

"Not really. You'll go to school, certainly, but you wouldn't live there."

"Why would I live anywhere else? Wouldn't it be harder to have to go between school and another place."

"That's true. But what I'm talking about is a family. Do you understand what a family is?"

"In the lab, they said it was people who shared social and genetic ties through marriage, procreation."

"Sometimes that's true, but that's only part of it. A family can be simple. Someone you grow up with, share your life with. That's what we want to find for you."

"Oh" 6 understood better than Pavia could know.

"So what do you think? We can start meeting with parents once we find 7. You can each find a good family to live with." 6 tried to picture it. Going to a strange staying place with strange adults. But nothing about it was family. How could it be? Those strange adults would never have shared anything with him. They would never understand how he grew up, and he would never really know their lives either. And 7, far away with different strangers who he would never know. Definitely not family.

"I don't want to do that."

"I know it might be odd to you, but you would get used to it soon."

"It isn't odd. I already have a family. You said family is someone you grow up with." Pavia's eyes widened in realization. "My first memory is sitting next to 7 in class when I was three, wondering why I had never seen him smile." 6 closed his eyes for a moment leaning his head back against the headboard of the bed. "I can't talk about this now. I know it's important, but I just want to go." He looked up at her, eyes pleading. "Can we go now?" Pavia sighed and nodded, and 6 couldn't tell if she was disappointed or sad.


	21. Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 947 attacks the police station.

The supply closet across from classroom four. Someone had grabbed him. Pulling him into the shadow.

"I'm not selfless, I'm practical."

7 was pushed down to the floor, above him a face that wasn't 933. Wasn't anyone.

"I'm not selfless, I'm practical."

Those weren't 933's words either. But 7 remembered them.  
The surface cleaner came down, and this time 7 cried out, screaming from a pain he couldn't even imagine.

Then there was darkness.

7 woke. It was still dark, somehow. Not the dim shadows of waking darkness, but the deep emptiness of cut-off vision. He went to his switchboard. On. Eyes on. Still empty. He rushed back to the switchboard. Eyes. Hearing. Touch. Even smell. Nothing worked. He tried regulating his heart rate, that was functioning. So the switchboard worked, but somehow it had decided to shut all his senses off, cut out everything external. 7 was powerless.

_I don't know where I am._

It was a terrifying thought, and 7 felt his heart rate go up again.  
Anything could be happening to me right now. I wouldn't even know.  
7's breathing was rapid, shallow. The pressing was deep. Pulling at his gut and tugging his throat. But this time it was laced with panic, as though every atom of his mind was screaming in protest.

_I can't. I can't exist like this._

But while his mind was petrified with terror, a memory surfaced. Nothing spectacular, just a voice. And the darkness released its viselike grip on him, feeling slowly returning to his limbs. He was not on his bed anymore. A group of Payne's assistants were crouched on the floor around him, their gloved hands on his wrists, his face, monitoring his heart. He shuddered at their touch and they immediately moved away. Looking up to the bed, he saw that his sheets were bunched haphazardly at the edge of the mattress. So he had tossed in his sleep, and when he woke up and lost sensory control, he had thrashed so much he had fallen off the bed. More than that he couldn't know. It disturbed him.

"What happened?" Most of the assistants seemed shocked speechless, but one spoke up.

"I don't know."

"Is there anything you need?"

"No." The pressing in his chest disagreed, but 7 didn't know what it wanted.

"Will you be able to carry on with the Police Station attack today? Should we delay until tomorrow?" 947 bristled. I don't need your pity.

"No." He reached across the floor to where his supports leaned against the bed and pushed himself shakily to his feet. "Tell Payne to power up the computer room."

* * *

Back at the station, 6 found that Pavia had not been lying. There were teams of investigators seated in front of large screens that were split to show security footage of different areas and times. But 6 could feel the lack of energy. They were simply going through motions, not really expecting anything to turn up. 6 was furious. How could they be so casual?

Pavia pulled him aside before they entered the room, and spoke quietly to him.  
"I won't be able to explicitly tell anyone why you're here, so you will have to be discreet. Watch what their doing, and give me any suggestions you can, but don't let you're presence disrupt anything."

"How are you going to explain why I'm here?"

"I'll tell them the truth mostly. You were worried about 7, and you wanted to help find him."

"If they know the truth, why do I have to be careful."

"This is technically against the rules. You would normally have to go through extensive screening before being given access to this sort of information. If you butt in to much, people will start to question why you're allowed access, and then we could both run into trouble, but as long as you lie low, no one will question it." 6 nodded, and Pavia palmed into the Investigatory Sector. 6 found a seat nearby the main monitor and sat observing quietly as Pavia approached the main supervisor to explain 6's presence. As 6 watched the monitor, he quickly saw where the problem lay. There was no security footage in the bathroom itself, no way of knowing who had gone into the stall next to 7's. An oversight in the building's design, which whoever captured 7 had no doubt been aware of and put to good use. 6 racked his brains as he stared at the screen, overwhelmed by the many footage clips flashing by. Why did I think I would be better than this team? This is their job. He stared at his feet, embarrassed. 7 would know what to do. If I had been taken instead, he would have found me already. He just knew. He could read the cold logic of people like Levitsky, like 933. Logic that makes people kill.

So what would the kidnapper do. They knew there was no camera in the bathroom. But they couldn't know that I wouldn't be in there with him, to see who went in the stall next to 7. What would have happened if I hadn't been stopped? How could they know that would happen? Oh. Of course. They planted her, the woman who stopped me, knowing that I wouldn't be able to turn down a plea for help. I should have known. Why would someone choose me to ask directions from rather than some adult who worked in the building? 6 stood and walked urgently towards Pavia, pulling on her hand to get her attention.

"I have something that I need to check. There was a woman who stopped and asked me for directions. She separated me from 7, and I think the kidnapper must have planted her."

Pavia nodded in understanding. She approached one of the investigators operating the screen and briefly explained 6's theory. 6 neared the screen, watching intently as they skipped through footage of the dome.

"There!" He pointed to the tiny image of a woman who was moving purposefully to intercept 6. The investigator paused the footage. "Can you move backwards? I want to see where she came from." The investigator nodded and rewinded the footage. 6 followed her as she disappeared off the screen. "Switch cameras." The woman reached the edge of the dome, and stopped for a moment. "Pause." The woman was standing close to a man. "Zoom in." The man was tall, suited, and was pulling a large suitcase.

"Run facial recognition on those two." Pavia ordered. "And play the footage forward, let's see where that man goes." 6 watched the man make his way across the room slowly, too slowly. He wouldn't make it to the bathroom in time to intercept 7. But 6 was suddenly distracted, by a sharp pain in his abdomen. He double over, a sharp burning sensation in his gut, and Pavia was by his side in a second. "6, what's going on? Should I call a medic?"

"I don't know." 6 gasped. "Something's wrong." But before Pavia could call for help, a blaring alarm filled the sector. 6 heard an automated voice booming throughout the station.

"The criminal containment sector has been compromised. Please clear all sector divisions for immediate shutdown." Thick metal dividers emerged from the walls on either side of the entrance to the Investigatory Sector, meeting in the middle and locking into place with a deep thud. The pain in 6's abdomen released just enough for him to look to Pavia questioningly.

"A criminal has escaped and is loose in the station. The dividers will keep us safe and will keep the criminal from leaving the building." Pavia walked to a panel on the wall by the sector division. She placed her palm on the panel and spoke.

"This is Captain Pavia to the Criminal Containment Center. Do you copy?"

"Yes, but we've been unable to locate the source of the alarm." Pavia frowned in confusion.

"Specify."

"We only have one prisoner in custody and he's in his cell, Captain."

"Double check. It's most likely a system malfunction, but we can't take chances."

"Yes, Captain." Pavia turned to address the confused looks of the investigators.

"The system seems to have had a false alert. Carry on with your work." They did, but 6 could sense their tension, their unease. The system didn't malfunction often. The voice on the wall panel spoke again.

"We've checked everything, it must have been a malfunction."

"Understood. I'll end the lockdown." Pavia pressed the wall panel, which lit up, creating a numeric keypad into which Pavia entered a series of numbers. Nothing happened. 6 watched as her eyes widened in understanding. Slightly panicked, she entered her code again.

"Who the hell is doing this?" She muttered to herself. Turning to face the investigators, 6 could see the alarm clearly in her eyes, but she kept her face inscrutable. She yelled over the still- blaring alarm. "The station has been compromised. They've corrupted my personal override code, and until we find a way through the containment walls, we're sitting ducks here." The investigators sat, frozen. They were unprepared for this sort of situation. "Luckily the computers in this sector are connected to the main system, so anyone with with knowledge and experience, needs to get to work now. Figure out how this is happening and how to stop it." Pavia turned again to the panel, and the investigators fell to work. She spoke into the panel. "Station Maintenance do you copy?" Nothing but static. "Do you copy?" Nothing. The pain in his gut had receded, so 6 made his way to the wall where Pavia stood.

"Doesn't anyone have their own personal communication devices?" 6 asked. He had seen people on the streets talking into tiny metal boxes and headsets.  
"Not in this room. The Investigatory Sector is strict on security. No one can bring in anything that might compromise confidentiality." She pounded her fist on the wall in frustration, and raised her voice to address the room. "Work as fast as you can. Whoever's doing this has cut off all our communication. They seem to be learning on the job, so the more time you give them, the more they cripple us."

"Captain, whoever's doing this must be within the station. The system is moving flawlessly, carrying out commands without question. The changes are so subtly made, I don't know where they begin. It's impossible to find a source."  
"Find everything you can. I-" Pavia was cut off by a new voice taking over the speakers, a clear, unwavering voice.

"This is Dr. Abraham Payne speaking. You're station is completely under my control. Make any move against me and everyone in this station will be dead within a minute. However, destruction is unnecessary, I only need assurance of my own security, the security to continue my work without fear of intervention. And to ensure my safety, I will require access to the launch codes of the planetary arsenal. Since I am already inside your system, you will need only to lower the encryption for an instant. You have three minutes to deliberate."  
The investigators sat in stunned silence, but Pavia wasted no time. She turned to face the room once again.

"The damage he could do with those codes is devastating. I want him out of the system now." 6 watched as they went to work, frantically sifting through the computer's security levels. But something did not add up. It was too abrupt. Why would Payne suddenly be able to attack the station like this. If he had had this ability why not use it early on. He wouldn't have had to go to all the trouble of an underground laboratory. It was too convenient. 6's heart sank.

7\. There were other possibilities, of course, but none that could explain everything. 6 looked at the investigators, hard at work. Hopeless. If we had a few days, maybe we would unravel it, but I know 7, and we have no chance. It was just like in the lab. Nobody came close to 7 in the tests, nobody could. Was 7 unbeatable then? 6 shuddered, remembering 7 bleeding on the closet floor. You can't beat 7 at his own game. But you can stop playing.

"Can the computers be shut off?"

"What?" Pavia spun to face him.

"7. Payne has 7, and he's using him to get in our system." Pavia's eyes widened. He could see her fitting the pieces together. But the burning had returned, and 6 doubled over again, screwing his eyes shut against the pain. Pavia was by him again, trying to ask him what was wrong, but he just shook his head. "7 is using the computers, he works through the system" The pain surged briefly, leaving 6 gasping. "Turn them off, cut power to the whole electric system, and he is powerless." Payne's voice spoke over the speakers.

"One minute remaining."

"Are you sure?" Pavia's hands were on his face, and she locked him in a hard, desperate look. "The containment walls will stay shut. We'll be trapped in here."

"It's the only way." She nodded, and almost ran to the monitors.

"Power off. We need everything completely shut down. Don't question it, that's an order." After several seconds of unbearable silence, there was a loud beep and the station was plunged into darkness.


	22. Stuck

Liang knew something was wrong when the fifth hour passed since she had called Pavia. As stubborn as Grace could be, she was dependable. She always checked for messages during her lunch hour, and never in four years of marriage had she given Liang the silent treatment, no matter how serious their arguments had gotten. It was quite possible that the search had had a breakthrough. That could keep Pavia in the Investigatory Sector and away from her communication, but for five hours? It was possible, but not likely. 

Liang sat behind her desk and made a call to the police station front desk. Her screen didn't even respond. There was no message informing her that the desk was busy, or temporarily out of order, just a blank screen. Liang took a deep breath. So, two options: either it was merely a communications malfunction and nothing to worry about, or something was seriously wrong. If it was the latter it might have been going on long enough to be covered by the media. She searched through broadcasts on her screen, until she found breaking news. 

After a few minutes of a minor earthquake coverage, the channel changed to footage of the station, completely dark and surrounded by emergency squads who seemed to be trying to break in. Text scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

Mysterious power outage leaves Central Planetary Police Station locked down in full containment. With the use of an emergency generator, personnel within the station were able to send out a call for help. The fire department has been breaking through containment walls for over an hour, but many of the station's personnel are still trapped within the station. 

Liang frowned, trying to calm the uneasiness in her stomach. Something had gone wrong, but it did not seem to be too dangerous. Pavia was safe, and if she wasn't, getting panicked about it wouldn't help. Liang closed and secured her case documents; she had made all the progress she could expect for the day, and their defense was solid. 

It was almost dark by the time she arrived at the station. The emergency teams were mostly through and the station personnel were gathered in a crowd in front of the building, surrounded by reporters and emergency medics. There didn't seem to be many injuries though. Liang pushed through the crowd, craning her neck to see past the people in front of her. When she finally reached the crowd of officers, Pavia was just leaving the building. She seemed to be deep in an argument with 946, who walked by her side. 

"I don't need all the computers, just access to the system records, so I can study what he did."

"I'll see if I can arrange that. For now, you need to see a medic and rest."

"They can't do anything. Only Payne can. And if we are going to stop him we need to know how he got in our system." Pavia looked up to see Liang waiting for her.

"Sophia, I'm glad you're here. Can you stay with 6 until I can sort this out. She gestured to the chaotic crowd."

"I don't need a medic, I..." 946 trailed off his attention caught by something. The voice of the nearest reporter rose above the crowd. 

"The attack is found to be the work of geneticist Abraham Payne and his creation, genetic experiment 947. Payne is facing a life sentence for his extreme infringement of the Genetiban." 946 looked horrified. 

"You need to stop them!"

"Is it true?" Liang ask sharply.

"It was only a theory." Pavia was furious. "Who was stupid enough to blab sensitive and unproven information to the press?"

"What exactly do we know?" Liang tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible. 

"We know Payne was behind the attack. Once inside, Payne offered us a deal: either give him access to the Planetary Arsenal to ensure his security, or he would destroy the station. Those are the facts. 6 guessed that 7 was kidnapped by Payne and was used by Payne to get inside the computer system, but it's only a theory. Even if it were true we don't know in what capacity he helped, and how Payne might've coerced or manipulated him." Liang nodded. Despite Pavia's authority as an eye-witness, her frustration was dangerous. Liang knew her temper could lead to trouble in sensitive situations like this.

"I think 946 is right. The more information we can find out the better. Get him into the computers. I'll see what I can do to set the record straight."

* * *

947 spent the day following the attack in the computer room. As soon as the power cut out, Payne had left the room without a word. 947 stayed at his monitor. Checking, double-checking. But of course nothing was wrong. The device had worked perfectly, his plan flawless. But there was another factor. Payne had assured him that the police would spend the three minutes trying to root him out of the system, that their pride would make them keep trying to fight him. So there was another factor. Someone who understood who they were facing. Someone like 946. Stupid. I should have incapacitated them. Shouldn't have hesitated. Another few seconds and they wouldn't even have been able to turn off the power. 

Now it was just like in the lab. The test is over so things change. Change is dangerous unless I control it. And to control it, I need to know what Payne is thinking. It was a small change in the programming, just enough to tap into the private calls of Payne's office. A guard kept constant watch over 947, so he directed his device to transcribe the call as text. He carefully read while making sure to appear busy with another of the screens at his monitor station. 

"It doesn't trust me. I tried everything that attracted it in the past and still..."

"It's a shame you've played your best card, Sir. You can't save it again."

"I need you to watch it, Drishti. I need to know how cooperative we can expect it to be." 

"And what if it won't do anything else?"

"Then we kill it. It's dangerous if it isn't busy."

Abruptly, the feed cut off. 947 scrambled to find the source. Did Payne know he had been listening? 947 relaxed slightly, the cut hadn't come from Payne. It came from the security system. He tried to get back in, to do anything, turn off a light switch even. The system had completely blocked him, and any attempt to force through would immediately alert Payne. Bad. Now I know that Payne is ready to kill me, and I'm stuck. Can't monitor him. Can't get out. 

But there was something else. You can't save it again. When did Payne save me? Of course. The serum. So that was all a plan. Make me sick so he could cure me and I would trust him. I need to get out. And now I'm shut out of this system, so I need help. The police might lie, they might manipulate me, but they are too stupid to realize how dangerous I am. Here I am, an it. Here they will kill me when the risks of keeping me alive outweigh the benefits. I need to get out. 

946 could help. If he knew where I was, or how to open the security systems. Still he would have to know where I was no matter what. If I found a way out, I would still be trapped. I would be in a strange place with no way to outrun Payne if he sent people after me. So where am I? 947 could recall the journey perfectly after he woke up in the rough darkness, but he could have been unconscious for hours before that. Was there anything, any clue that would tell 946 where to start? 947 turned everything off. Sight, sound, touch. The darkness made his pulse jump, but he steadied it. I am in control now. Back to the rough tight place. He remembered the bumps, the inertia pushing him back as the vehicle accelerated. The sounds of the streets, growing louder at each intersection as the vehicles waited their turn. But where did he start? Something echoed through his memory. A strange chiming, ringing sound, six times, but what was it for? 7 had never heard anything like it in his life. But it was all he could remember; he could only hope it would be enough of a clue. From there he knew the rest, the turns and street blocks laid out clearly in his head. Now to get them to 946. There would be no way to send it as unencrypted text or sound. Payne would notice. So an encryption then. Standard enough to be fairly obvious, but random enough to be dismissed. He searched the computer database for a suitable code. Morse. The simple dots and dashes could be transferred as pulses of power for different durations. 

947 waited. He would only need a few minutes of connectivity to transmit his message, but the police would have good reason not to reconnect their computers. They knew the danger now and no unnecessary risks would be taken. He could transmit it to someone else. Pavia, Brooks and Liang would all have personal computers. But they wouldn't notice, wouldn't see. 947 busied himself fine-tuning the device, checking the station systems. It wasn't enough; his head was empty and he was there. 

_Listen 7..._

No. Don't call me that. I owe you nothing.

Finally the station system was on. Not fully, just one information records console that didn't control anything of importance. It was enough. 

**6 chime sounds**   
**3 blocks**   
**Right**   
**7 blocks**   
**Left**   
**10 blocks**   
**Left**   
**4 blocks**   
**Right**   
**5 blocks**   
**Right**   
**Long curved road**   
**Down**

He paused, repeated the message. Was it enough?

**Help**.


	23. Progress

It took 6 several hours to unravel the workings of the computer system, but he had all the help he could want. The station's technicians gathered around him, ready to answer any question, though Pavia had ordered them not to interfere. The more 6 understood the attack on the system, the more sure he became that it was 7. It was so subtle, organic almost, that the system could barely even register the changes he had made. 7 had started with the lockdown, manipulating the most basic security impulses of the system and leading it to distrust everything that came internally. However, although 6 understood 7's method he was no closer to finding a way to stop him. Understanding 7's brain was one thing, outthinking it was entirely different. It didn't help that the burning pain in his gut, while not as intense as before, was now tugging incessantly at him, making it more and more difficult to focus. 

About five hours into his work, 6 began to notice something wrong with the computer's power levels. He had one of the technicians check the system, but there was nothing wrong. Puzzled, 6 programmed his console to read out the power fluctuations, and soon he began to see a pattern. The power surges came in two different distinct durations, one long one short. It meant nothing to 6, but one of the technicians who was watching suddenly exclaimed, "Morse! That's morse code." She brought up guide to the morse alphabet and 6 plugged it directly into his program so that the pulses would be decoded automatically as they were received. 

He caught a few words before it stopped. Then started again with what he assumed was the beginning of the message. He recorded the whole thing, apparently some sort of directions, and again the message paused. He waited for the message to repeat but it didn't. Instead it offered only one more word. Help. 

6 turned to the nearest officer. "Get Pavia. I think 7 just told us how to find him."

It was 7. No doubt anymore. 7 had given him directions and 6 would follow them. Most of the message seemed clear enough, giving directions through blocks and turning, using what 7 would have been able to hear or feel from within whatever vehicle he was in. But where did the directions start from? No doubt 7 would have been unconscious for much of the journey and would have no way of knowing how long. The only clue was "six chime sounds." Pavia entered the room and stood next to 6. 

"Can I see the message?" 6 showed it to her. 

"The only thing I don't understand is the first line." Pavia was silent for a long moment, staring at the screen. Suddenly her eyes widened in excitement.

"A clock tower! He could have heard a clock chiming the hour. There aren't many clock towers in the city, so if we know he was near one at six o'clock, that would narrow it down." 6 pulled up a map of the capital and Pavia found the city's three clock towers. The possibilities were still baffling. It was impossible to know in which direction 7's directions began or how close he was to any of the towers when he heard the chime. However one of the towers could be ruled out easily, as it was too far away from the courthouse for the kidnapper to get there by six o'clock. It took almost an hour, with the whole team searching the map, testing out every possibility, but they found it. A long road that made its way through the hills outside the city and led to an old river dam. Pavia was triumphant. 

"Assemble a team. We need full weaponry and shielding-"

"No!" 6 interrupted, "Don't you remember what happened at the lab? If you storm in, Payne will destroy everything. He'll kill 7 and escape just like he did before."

"7 needs our help. He gave us directions, so he must want us to come."

"Maybe, but let me try first. I've studied his attack on the station. If you give me time, I could get into Payne's base, let down the security so 7 can escape before you break in." 6 could see Pavia's frustration, her impatience, but 6 was right and she yielded to his reasoning.

"Alright."

* * *

Payne was torn. It was impossible to maintain his usual calm while he knew 947 was at the computer console. Yet making it leave the console would alert it to Payne's distrust. Which led to the ultimate question: was it worth keeping it alive anymore? Payne had been asking himself that question for eight years, and 947 was still alive. In the lab, it had been necessary to placate Levitsky, and the lab's destruction made 947 a valuable resource. But now, again things had changed, and Payne again began to doubt the benefits of keeping 947 alive. The device 947 created was brilliant, it's programming adaptable to a variety of circumstances, and Payne knew his technicians could operate it alone, so was that all? Had 947's genius been depleted? Judging from past data, the answer was most likely no. Its greatest strengths, the tests had indicated, were quick thinking, problem solving, adaptability. In all likelihood it would be useful again. 

Still it was dangerous, distrustful. When the lab was discovered it had known Payne would kill it. No doubt it was plotting even now, weighing the pros and cons of its situation. But Payne was stuck, because there was no viable way to prevent it. The plan had gone so smoothly at first: triggering and treating the condition, planting a conversation for it to overhear right after it first woke up, knowing it would only trust information it found itself. But Payne was beginning to realize that it wasn't enough. He needed 947 out of the way. Payne heard a knock on the door of his office and he sat up straight. 

"Enter." Drishti pushed open the door.

"I'm here to report," she raised a wry eyebrow. "because I was told to do so every two hours." Her words were a challenge. 'Don't you trust me to know when I've seen something worth reporting?'

"And?"

"947 hasn't moved from its console or done anything that we can detect."

"It must be doing something."

"Of course. It's monitored the station computers, made small changes to the device, nothing significant."

"I see." Payne paused, distracted for a moment by her fingers, long and elegant, as they gripped the back of the chair in front of her.

"Why did you call me here. Did you just want to see me?" Her lips taunted him.

"I thought you had made up your mind. Would it have changed if 947 had been doing anything?"

"I didn't decide to keep it alive. I decided to wait and see if it was a threat."

"And how long are you going to wait? How many hours of empty reports will it take." She had him. Payne honestly did not know how to answer, he'd just assumed after a certain amount of time it would be prudent to kill it. Drishti smiled and sat in the chair in front of him, putting her face directly in front of his. "It has proved useful, and it will do so again. Do not kill it out of fear."

"What should I kill it for then?"

"What has driven you in the past? You did not spend eighteen years underground for fear."

"I was created to be brilliant, born to do great things, and I did. But the world was afraid of my greatness. They chose mediocrity over excellence, safety over progress." Drishti was drinking in his words. 

"A noble cause. And now you must be sure you do not make the same mistakes the politicians did. Do not act for fear, only for strength, for progress."


	24. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ready folks. This is a big one.

947 was on edge. The hours of waiting had slowly worn at him. He controlled it as much as he could, turning off the churning of his stomach, steadying his heart rate, but he couldn't shake the unease in his mind. _How long before Payne decides he has waited too long. How long before I am too dangerous to keep alive._ 947 had done everything he could think of to improve his device, had checked the base's security over and over for any opening, and was constantly monitoring the police station computers for any signal that they had received his message. He repeated it. Once, twice. Nothing. His head was too empty again, and that man was back, his words jumbled into incomprehension. But 7's mind pushed back.

Weak. Stupid. I owe you nothing.

He went to his switchboard again. Turned everything off. My head is my own. Here the world cannot touch me. Here nothing can hurt me. But in the darkness, 7 was alone. And the darkness mocked him. He turned his vision back on. How long was it off? Time was nothing in the darkness.

947 checked his console again and felt his pulse jump. The power to his console was fluctuating, a perfect recreation of what 947 had done to the station. 946, undoubtably. 947 decoded the message in his head.

**1 hour**

**We will distract Payne**

**Security down for 5 minutes**

**Down main hall**

**Last door on the right**

**Stairs**

**Turn left**

One hour. 947 knew it would take time for them to prepare, but the wait would be torture. Not to mention 947 would have to find a way to stop Payne from suspecting anything and killing him. But the plan would work, whatever it was, because they had 946, and while Payne may have been able to prevent 947 from manipulating the base's system from within, he wouldn't be able to stop 946. 946 who had been able to study from 947's attack, who had surely learned to replicate the programming in 947's device. Payne's base was vulnerable, since Payne had no way to defend against an attack 947 had only just designed. 

947 tried once more to break into the base's own computer system, but it was useless. Payne had blocked 947's console from everything he could use. Surveillance, blueprints, emergency protocol, everything. So 947 was left with nothing but trust. It was easier than he expected. 946 would get him out, would rescue him, and then he would be safe. Of course there was still a trial, 947 and 946 had still broken the law. But a law was nothing to Payne. Payne knows what I am, what I can do. The police don't trust me, but they also don't know me. So I will be safe enough. No longer an it, no sickness. But something wasn't right. Wasn't enough.

Half an hour left. 947 felt lightheaded. How long had he been awake at his console? He increased the blood flow to his brain, but exhaustion was difficult to prevent. The symptoms affected everything, his limbs, his brain, his heart rate. When only two minutes remained, 947 left the computer room, headed towards the bathroom. Hopefully Payne's guard wouldn't wonder where he was until after he had escaped.

947 hobbled out into the hallway and into the bathroom down the main hallway. He stood inside the door, barely breathing as he counted down the seconds until the hour was up. 5...4...3...2...1. 947 burst out of the door and into the hall, flinging himself towards the last door on the right. He could hear a bell ringing, some sort of emergency system. He pushed the door at the end of the hall and it opened, revealing a stairwell that led up several flights. 947 began the climb at a painstakingly slow pace. But 946 knew how slowly 947 had to move, so 947 knew he could make it. The emergency bell rang in his ears, and he could just make out the muffled pounding of fists as Payne and his assistants began to realize they were trapped. 

947 reached the first landing. One more flight to go. Three minutes left. He paused, caught his breath. There was a door at the landing, a small observation window. 947 looked inside. Payne's lab, test samples, machines, and across the room he saw them. Tiny cylindrical cases, like the one Payne's assistant had been holding when he first came to talk to 947, to cure him.

7 pushed on the door. It opened. 7 crossed the lab room. There they were. He picked up one of the cases, inspecting it. It was the serum. Every marking was a perfect match to the one Payne had used. Then 7's heart stopped. A door had just been opened. He couldn't see it but it was somewhere in the lab. _Get out!_ His mind was screaming at him, but he couldn't move fast enough. His arms were shaking and his right hand was trying to hold on to his support and the syringe case at the same time. Where else could he put it? His clothes had no pockets, and he could hear footsteps rushing towards him. He had no bag, no pockets, nothing but his crutches. Crutches. 7 pulled one crutch from under his arm, popping off the cushioning on the top. Sure enough, the metal pipes of his supports were hollow, leaving just enough space for the case. He shoved the cushioning back one it. But he had taken too long. The door to the stairwell was out of reach and the footsteps were right behind him. 

7 felt a sharp pain in his neck, and the world exploded. He collapsed, his arms wrapping uselessly around his head, trying to block out the sounds that pounded in his ears, the brightness that stabbed at his eyes. He could feel hands, pulling at him, tearing his skin off. Somewhere in his mind he knew that people were speaking, but there was so much sound. Sound everywhere. He couldn't tell what the words were. His mind was full, so full of sounds and colors and touch. Crutches. His only thought was crutches, and he clung to them. Clung with all his might until the people around him gave up, and carried them with him.

* * * 

6 was in a panic. He had tried to stop the door to Payne's lab from opening, but something had gone wrong. He hadn't been careful enough, again, and the door was unlocked. Now the five minutes were almost up, and Pavia and her team were eager to start their attack. 6 checked the surveillance footage from the stairwell. No sign of 7. The pain in his abdomen flared again and he grimaced. It had remained mostly stable throughout the past few hours, but the occasional spikes were unbearable.   
He was desperate to know what was going on in Payne's lab, but he couldn't check many cameras in the base; security got tighter the farther into the base he went. He turned up the sound on the footage, desperate for some clue to what could be going on. The emergency bell rang constantly, and people were yelling, pounding on doors. And then 6 heard it, and his heart plummeted into his stomach. A wave of nausea hit him so suddenly he was left gripping the edge of his desk to keep himself from falling out of his chair. He knew that sound. It was burned in his memory ever since he watched the recording of 7's conversation with Levitsky. 7 was screaming.

The officers assisting him were now gathered around him, their faces wrinkled in concern. Liang, who had been watching from the edge of the room, was now by his side. 

"That screaming. That's 7 isn't it?" 

6 nodded, unable to speak. He raked through the base's systems in desperation, but he didn't know what would help. Would 7 need to escape the room, or would it be better to keep him in one place until the police could come get him. But 7 didn't scream like that for nothing. He spoke into the communicator on his console.

"Pavia. Something happened. 7 went into the wrong door and I can hear him screaming and I don't know what went wrong" 6 was rambling, gasping for air.

"Take deep breaths, 6. We're going to get him out. I just need you to tell me where he is."

"He's one floor down, and he went through the door that leads into Payne's lab from the main stairwell."

"Alright. We'll be there as fast as we can." 6 nodded. Closing his eyes for a moment to try to collect himself. 7 will be alright. Pavia will rescue him.

6 switched one of his monitors to a video feed from the small hover-cruiser that was flying towards the old dam. The river was not too large, but very powerful, its waters churning and frothing. The dam itself was seemingly in disrepair, rusted and bent in places. The road that led to it was completely blocked off by armored police vehicles. They had waited, afraid of alerting Payne too soon, but now they charged forward. 6 could see officers sprinting for the entrance, their weapons held aloft. But as they reached the entrance, 6 saw the dam begin to sway. He was about to speak up, to warn Pavia and the officers when suddenly an entire section of the dam crumbled, shattering like glass. The river surged into the gap and tore down what was left of the dam, washing it all downstream. The officers scattered like ants trying to avoid the powerful tide that had begun to sweep through the valley. 6 could hear the officers through Pavia's communicator, yelling panicked orders as they struggled to escape the surging river. But, their voices were distant, tinny and muffled. 6 was drifting again. Lost in the dome. His body aching. Just give in, it begged, just let it ease the pain. And as the river carried away the last remains of the dam, 6 surrendered. 


	25. Justice

"Have you seen the news?"

"What, other than yesterday's attack?" Liang's brow furrowed.

"Yes. The Central Planetary Hospital." Mr. Brooks was incredulous. "You didn't hear about the hospital?" 

"I haven't made it to my office since before the police station was attacked. What happened?"

"It was attacked. Someone got into the hospital's computer system. Strikingly similar to the attack on the police station, only there was no message. Instead, the cyberattack went unnoticed for hours while it corrupted all the systems. Hundreds of incorrect dosages, surgical robot malfunctions, life support systems suddenly going dead. There have been over three hundred deaths already, and more will come unless the system's integrity is restored."

"You said 'somebody' got in. Surely we can assume it was Payne?" 

"Well, yes. But there are complications." Mr. Brooks sighed in frustration. "You did an admirable job keeping 947's possible involvement in the police station attack quiet, but word did get out. And with this new attack people are scared. They want someone to blame, and already there are those assuming 7 was behind this attack."

"Don't people know about our attempt to rescue him? He sent a message asking for help."

"Yes, but due to the disastrous outcome of the rescue mission, people suspect that it may have been a trap. After all, the dam's destruction did result in casualties." Liang nodded in understanding. "Speaking of which, is Pavia at home? We should all discuss her public stance on the newest developments, to make sure she concurs with our argument."

"She is home, but she's still in bed. She hasn't slept well in days and after the rescue mission she had so much bureaucratic cleanup to do that she couldn't come home for hours. As soon as she did, she fell asleep and hasn't woken since." Liang sighed. "She'll be furious with herself when she wakes, but she needs the rest."

"I understand. What about 6? I hope he hasn't been too hard on himself."

"He passed out right after the rescue attempt failed. The doctors checked him out, but apparently it was pure exhaustion. He hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours and the pressure he was under was extreme."

"What about his illness? Was he taken to the hospital?" 

"Only briefly. The doctors did their best, but his illness is inexplicable. And due to the emotional strain he's been under, which seems to exacerbate his condition, his psychologists recommended he come home with me. He's asleep in the guest bedroom now."

"Well, until either of them wake up, we need to plan our defense. There is still evidence in support of 7's innocence, even though current events have muddied the waters."

"Yes. But, Mr. Brooks." Liang paused choosing her words carefully. "I can't help but wonder. I know what we are doing, we have to defend 946 and 947. But are we right to? For all we know 947 really was behind both attacks. All we have to go on is 6's word."

"Please, don't misunderstand me. I don't intend to stifle the truth or obscure facts from the public to fit our story. But we have to give these boys a fair chance in court. We can't let the public be swayed by sensationalism and fear before we even know all of the facts." 

"I agree. All the same, I think we should be cautious."

"Of course. But I agreed to defend them in court out of a genuine belief that they are innocents, victims of a terrible upbringing. And I will stand by that position until I hear substantial proof of the contrary."

* * *

Mayor Prideaux could not allow this to continue. The people were panicking, businesses shutting down out of fear. And all because one little bastard had to use the bathroom. Despite what Liang had said in her formal statement, there was no question of who was behind this chaos. If Payne had been able to do this sort of thing himself, he would've done it long ago.

Prideaux watched news footage of the hospital. Ambulances swarmed, trying to move the patients to safety. The patients' friends and family gathered in a huge frenzied crowd outside the doors, held back by a metal barrier. The destruction this boy could cause is unimaginable.

And then there was 946. He had found Payne's base, infiltrated it, and although the rescue mission had failed, 946 was still undoubtably the police force's best asset for tracking down Payne once again. But Prideaux was not blinded by affection, so he saw what Pavia and her bumbling officers could not. He saw that 946 possessed the same knowledge that had allowed 947 to attack the police station, the hospital. 946 had used 947's methods in his rescue attempt. And so he could not be allowed to go free. They would use him to find Payne's base, and then he would need to be stopped, either by putting him in a secure institution, or by letting him die of the fatal condition he already had. However, it would be important to ensure that if both survived, the law would not sway in their favor, so Prideaux would have to ensure that the seeds of doubt and fear that the hospital's attack had sown would grow. Fear without direction creates chaos, but give the people an enemy, and it becomes justice. 

Mayor Prideaux began making calls to the news organizations who he knew would pounce on his suggestions, would stir animosity in the public. After all, it was only two lives. History would forget them, would thank him in the end, but the possible disaster they could cause would no doubt lead to Prideaux's downfall. No one would thank him for saving two lives if it cost hundreds more as well as the peace and stability of their society. Payne would be found, arrested, 946 and 947 would be dead or out of the way, and Prideaux would remain. Justice must be served.


	26. I owe him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is short but crucial.

The needle bed. Straps on his arms, his legs, his waist, around his head. He had tried so hard to forget it, stuck and powerless, he had tried to push it from his mind, into his dreams, his nightmares. But it was back. It was everywhere. The sounds, colors, feelings. Everything was too rough, too loud, too bright and 7 couldn't stand it. His head ached from the noise, his eyes were screwed tight against the sharpness of the light, and every touch felt like sandpaper being ground into his skin. Still he struggled, straining his limbs against the restraints, because even the pain was better than being trapped. Everything he had pushed out, silenced, muted, was shouting to be heard, to be felt to be touched, and it was too much. His mind was full. 

Why? The question tore at him, fighting to be noticed over everything else his body was screaming at him. Why did I do that? I could've saved myself. I could've gotten out. 

It's what 6 would have done.

And suddenly the stabbing colors and pounding sounds didn't matter, because the pressing had fought its way up and it was so close, pressing into his brain until it felt ready to burst. His hand was empty. Cold and empty, and he didn't know why, but it bothered him.

The pressing is now. It's in his head. And 7 could feel everything. Not just the sounds and lights and the straps on his body. Everything aching and fuming, hollow and bursting. And _he_ was there again. 

_I was the one who designed you._

He was weak.

_I'm the reason you were so different from the others._

I owe him nothing.

_When I created you, I didn't use just any DNA, I used my own._

7 was trapped, nowhere to retreat, nothing to turn off, so the fuming pushed up inside him.

He was weak, he never helped me. He had every reason to but he didn't. Not in the needle bed, or when the others hurt me. In the end he abandoned me. 

7 gritted his teeth, every muscle of his body clenched. It was the same terrible _feeling_. Stop it. Stop it now. The fuming still raged in his bones, but something else pulled at him. Something gentler, quieter, but far more terrifying and 7 struggled against it with all his might, limbs shaking with effort. But his struggles couldn't keep the aching out. His screams could not drown out the hollowness.

6 helped me. For no reason, he saved my life, trusted me. He always thought I was good. He was stupid, but I loved him for it. 

And so I trusted him. Told him something so secret that no stranger could know it. So he was no longer a stranger, he was part of me. And I loved him for it. 

7 could see him, could see 6 clearly in his mind. But he wasn’t happy. 6 should always be happy, laughing and smiling. 6 had laughed and smiled before but 7 couldn’t remember how it had looked, couldn’t see it in his mind. He only saw sadness, pain. 6’s face was aching with them. 

And when the fuming pressed up again, 7 burned with it. He fumed and bursted because it was wrong. It shouldn’t be like that.

He hurt 6. Levitsky. Said he made me who I am. Said he was my family. Said he was a part of me, but he is wrong. Because he hurt 6. And I will not hurt 6.

_The closest thing to family you will ever have_

No. You were wrong. I made my own family.

And 7 knew why he had done it. Why he had risked everything. 

We are supposed to get out together. Just like in the lab. I needed 6 to get out. Together. And I still need him. But not just to get out, to survive. I need him to be good.  
He understood. But the fuming, bursting had died down, and left him only with hollowness. And knowing the cause of it didn't make it any more bearable. Knowing that he had been missing 6 all along didn't make him miss him any less. If anything it was worse. He was trapped, stuck in a nightmare of sound and lights and needles, and all he could think of was 6.

What would change if 6 were here? He can't save me.

But even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. Because that's what 6 had always done. His presence alone would make everything bearable. And 7 ached. The emptiness gnawed at him. His throat felt raw, and his face was wet, but 7 didn't know which of the of clamoring sounds around him was his own voice. There were people around him, vague shadows lost in the brightness, and 7 felt a needle pierce the skin of his arm. He panicked, thrashing out, every atom of his body protesting. Let me go, let me go, let me go. But his body had stopped responding. Slow, sluggish. 

They took my mind, my control, my body. I can't exist like this, I can't exist without anything that is mine.

There was someone else in his head. Not Levitsky, not anymore.

 _Just hold on to the ladder. That's all you need to do._

The voice was soft, strained with emotion.

 _Please_.

That was all 6 ever asked. He didn't expect me to fight, he didn't expect me to smile or cry or be normal. He only expected me to live. And I can do that. I owe him.


	27. Orders

When 6 woke, there was a brief moment of bliss. Everything was soft and warm around him. Gentle morning sunlight shone in from the window, forming fuzzy shadows on the light green walls. The room was like no other room he had slept in. No lines of bunks, no medical equipment, just tables, a chest of drawers. 6 felt wonderfully light, sleep still hanging gently over him like a veil. This must be what Pavia had been describing when she tried to explain homes to him. There was no use to it, no reason for green walls or sunny windows, it was just a place. A good place to stay. 

But the thought of Pavia broke through the sleep haze, and suddenly 6 remembered. 7 screaming. The dam crumbling. Water churning through the ruins. 7 was gone. There were no tears in 6's eyes, not now. No release from the emptiness.

There was a knock on 6's door, and Liang entered. Sat on the edge of his bed. Offered to bring him food. Asked how he was feeling. 6 only shook his head. He knew he should eat, he should be hungry, but the pain in his abdomen had somehow increased. It burned constantly spreading fire out into his limbs, making his head ache, and the idea of putting anything in his stomach was unimaginable. He asked where he was. Liang explained they were in a house, the house where she and Pavia lived. But Pavia had just left, gone to the station to search for Payne she told him. 6 nodded. 

Liang smiled at him, told him to call for her if he wanted anything. She didn't touch him, didn't wrap her arms around him or take his hand like Pavia would have, but he wasn't sure he wanted her to. 

When the morning had faded to afternoon, sunlight no longer shining through his window, 6 heard a door open. Close. Voices muffled by the walls. Pavia was home. Gently, she knocked on his door, entered. She told him there had been an attack, hundreds dead in a hospital. But that couldn't be 7. There was no point to it, just death and fear. 

Did they find anything, he asked. Any clues, any hope. Pavia only shook her head. Too tired and frustrated to speak. Her face was strangely vacant, but 6 understood. Some things are too much to be expressed, so you stop trying. Pavia reached into her pocket and produced a small bottle of pills. Painkillers. 6 took them. He knew they wouldn't help, and they didn't. But it would make Pavia feel better, it would make her feel like she could help.

In the night, 7's face haunted him. But there was no anger in it. No fear or pain. It was blank, empty, like 6 had known it to be for eight years. Now it filled him with dread. 

He woke early the next morning. Had to get out of the bed. It was dark, too dark, and when 6 couldn't see, his mind made things for him to see. However, when 6 sat up, his head throbbed and everything was burning. Carefully, he pushed himself upright, sliding his feet over the edge of the bed. He made his way methodically to the door, no sudden movements that would aggravate the pain. His bedroom opened into a much larger room with large padded chairs and couches surrounded by small tables. Everything was neat, practical, comfortable. 6 lowered himself into one of the chairs closing his eyes for a moment. The short walk had exhausted him. 

By the faint light that shone in through the windows, 6 could see photographs on the table next to him. Most of the people in the photos he had never seen before, but they must be important to Pavia and Liang. Friends, maybe, or family. No wonder they couldn't understand his desperation to help 7. They could lose someone and still have a family. 6 had only 7. One photo showed Pavia and Liang dressed in white, holding hands. They were smiling at each other, happier than he had ever seen them, and 6 felt another small weight added to his heart. They were happy once. Before me. And now they only worry. 

"Please not now, can't it at least wait until I've gotten to the station?" 6 jumped slightly at the sound of Pavia's voice. He looked around the room, but she was nowhere in sight, and her voice was muffled. In a different room.

"This can't wait." A man's voice responded. 6 didn't recognize it. "There's been another attack."

"Like the others?"

"Yes. The method is distinctive, though it got a bit sloppy this time."

"Where?"

"A power plant, about fifty miles out of the Capital."

"You said it was sloppy. How?"

"They forced an emergency containment, trapping several workers in a hazardous sector. There were several casualties, but whoever is behind this got too reckless. They tried to force their way in, tried to create dangerous power surges, but the system recognized an intruder and they were shut out of the system."

"That's a relief."

"But it's not enough. No matter what we tell people, nothing erases the fact that Payne and whoever is helping him hold the power to get inside any system, to inflict unimaginable damage. It makes you wonder why he bothered asking for the arsenal codes in the first place."

"So what do you want? My people are doing everything we can. We don't need motivation, we need leads, evidence."

"I want you to use the evidence you have. 6, Levitsky. They understand Payne better than any of us could."

"6 is sick. He's dying. And we've tried to talk to Levitsky. He never responds, just wanders around his cell muttering in Russian."

"I don't mean to intrude of course." 6 could tell he didn't mean it. "It was only a suggestion."

"Is that it?" Pavia's voice was clipped, and 6 could tell she was holding back her exasperation. "You've given me your suggestion, now can I get to work?"

"No. Not yet. I've given you a suggestion; now I'm giving you an order. When you find Payne, he cannot be allowed to escape again."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Don't get smart with me. I mean no more rescue missions, no more cute little infiltrations. The moment you can even guess where Payne is, you will transmit the coordinates, and he will be obliterated."

"But-"

"And don't even think about disobeying. I know you'd think yourself some sort of martyr losing your job for this, but going against this order means endangering thousands of lives. It's a criminal offense. Still, I've notified the entire police station of this order. If you don't give the coordinates, someone else will." 

6 stood up abruptly, too abruptly. He forced himself to make his way slowly back to the bedroom. Pavia could not know he had heard. She was under orders now, orders that she knew 6 wouldn't like. She was a good person, kind, but whoever she had been talking to had her trapped. So though 6 loved her, he could not trust her. From now on, she was dangerous. From now on, 6 would have to work on his own.

But 6 knew that he couldn't. He could barely walk, let alone find Payne and rescue 7 himself. He would need help. The man had said it was a criminal act to disobey his orders, so 6 would need a criminal.

* * *

"May I ask why I've been assigned to watch 947 full time? The rest of the surveillance crew has been on three hour shifts." Drishti raised her eyebrows. "You couldn't think of anything better for me to do?" Payne smiled wryly.

"I could think of many things. But I need someone I can trust to remain impartial. To give me an honest report."

"Is that why you've yet to even ask for a report? It's been over two days."

"I trusted you to let me know if there was anything to be concerned about. I've been busy." Payne leaned back in his chair. "So, did you come here just to complain or do you have something to report."

"Well there isn't much to be done about it, but I thought you should know. The repressor you developed is having inexplicable effects."

"What do you mean?" 

"I read the reports from four years ago. The repressor was supposed to incapacitate 947. That was all it seemed to do when it was developed. It stopped 947 from blocking out pain and other stimuli, forced it to feel. I don't know what happened, but it's different now. The repressor seems to be actively inflicting some degree of pain or discomfort."

"How did you come to this conclusion?"

"When it was first injected, you'll recall that 947 was screaming. It passed out after only a few minutes, we still don't know why. When it woke a few hours later, the effects were similar to what we measured when the drug was developed, it lay on the bed, heart rate elevated, but mostly still, analogous to the blue light room's effects."

"So 947's initial response was an anomaly. Perhaps the shock of the situation was enough to trigger its unconventional behavior."

"I haven't finished. Yesterday, after it had been awake for several hours, it became agitated. Muttering to itself. Fighting frantically against its restraints. It even cried out a few times. We had to tranquilize it, to stop it from harming itself and to control its heartbeat."

"You're our best neurologist. Any theories?"

"My guess is that 947 may have made gradual adjustments to the neurological inputs it receives, automatically filtering out unwanted stimuli until it became acclimated. After spending all its life with complete control over the sensory inputs it receives, the sudden loss of control would make normal sounds, lights, and feelings overwhelming, painful even. However, it still doesn't explain 947’s behavior when it woke up. If our theory is true, there would be no reason for the discomfort to increase or decrease, it would be as constant as 947's surroundings."

"So there's nothing? No possible explanation? You said it was muttering, what did it say?"

"Nothing logical, just incoherent words. 'Weak. Stupid. Get out.' When we tried to tranquilize it, 947 started begging us to let it go, asking us for its crutches."

"947 insisted on bringing those with it, didn't it?"

"Yes."

"That's logical enough. It's existence has been defined by a need for control. Control of its mind, its surroundings. The crutches are a representation of physical control."

"I agree, but what about the rest of its behavior. There was no logic. No rational explanation for such unprovoked agitation." 

"Have you ruled out insanity?"

"No." Drishti frowned. "But it would be foolish to dismiss 947's behavior. Are you so willing to throw it away? Why not kill it if you don't want to use it?"

"Insane or not, the police's attempt to rescue 947 gave it an inherent worth. They consider it to be valuable enough to risk losing a dangerous criminal in a half-assed rescue mission." Drishti pursed her lips.

"What are your orders?"

"Do not administer any more of the repressor. In our initial tests, it stayed in the system for days, even weeks. Monitor it closely." Drishti nodded, and left his office. He immediately reassigned Drishti to a regular, three-hour shift. He had seen her reluctance, her doubt. He had seen it before. But he would not fail her as he had failed Levitsky. He would not let her fall to compassion. Would not sit back and watch it destroy her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback? I'd love to hear it :)


	28. Trust

7 had no idea how long he had being lying on the needle bed. He could still feel the heaviness in his limbs, slowing his heart, fogging up his mind. But the world was as unbearable as ever, straps grating against his limbs, brightness pressing in all around him. The sounds were as painful as ever, and his head ached with them, but he had begun to distinguish them. 7 could hear a voice.

"947? Can you hear me?" Payne is going to kill me. I don't know why I've survived this long. He knows I tried to get out. 

"Am I going to die?" The sound of his own voice was torture, vibrating in his head.

"Do you want to?"

"Yes. But I can't."

"I could kill you. If you want to die."

"No!" 7 fought through the haze in his mind. He had to make them understand. "No, he wants me to live."

"He?" 7 only nodded. The aching had welled up in him and it was going to overflow. 7 couldn't say his name. "I have food for you. Can you eat?" 7 shook his head. "You'll die if you don't eat." They were right. But 7 couldn't imagine putting food in his mouth. His body wouldn't allow it. Still he would have to eat. Reluctantly, 7 nodded. He felt something prying his jaw open, something thick pouring into his mouth. Taste exploded in his brain. Bitter and sour and sweet and salty all vying for his attention. His throat rebelled against the sudden texture, slimy and repulsive. He was coughing, choking. Unable to move his head and clear his airways. The person above him was calling for help, panicking as they tried to remove his restraints and free his head. His torso was free, and 7 pushed himself upright, his limbs screaming in protest. He coughed, convulsing violently as though his body was trying to purge itself. The sliminess was everywhere, on his shaking hands and his gaping lips. He gulped air, desperate to clear the lightness of his head. 

He felt himself falling, collapsing back on the bed, but strong arms caught him. There were cloths wiping at his face, scratching his skin, and he pushed away from them. Hands circled his arms, trying to steady him, but he only shook harder at the pressure. His eyes were streaming. 

I failed. I couldn't even eat. I couldn't even eat for him.

"Please, I'm sorry I'll do anything. I'll try again. Don't kill me, I have to live."

"Shh," The voice above him was softer now. "It's alright, you don't have to try that again. I'll feed you through an IV." 7 couldn't help the panic that overtook his brain at the thought of more needles, more substances going into his body. But he could do it. 7 was lowered back down onto the bed. The straps were reattached. 7 closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth as he felt the needle enter his arm. But he didn't scream, he didn't beg for them to stop. 

I owe him.

* * *

A few minutes after 6 returned to his bedroom, Pavia knocked on the door. 

"I'm awake." She entered and sat down on the edge of his bed. Her face was unreadable, a mix of so many warring emotions, 6 didn't know where to begin.

"6, I know you don't want to talk about this, but 7's in trouble."

"I know." Pavia looked surprised for a moment, then recovered.

"Not just that he's with Payne. There has been another attack. People are scared, and they're blaming him."

"It's not him. 7 would never do something so pointless."

"I know. I believe you, 6." She didn't. "But you have to admit it's suspicious. He's had some strange behavior, and when people don't understand something they become afraid." Pavia looked him straight in the eye. "You know more about him than you've told us. You said he was different, but you never said how."

"I can't tell you."

"7 would forgive you. This could help to clear his name."

"He told me. He only told me in all his life."

"I understand. But this is an emergency."

"No it's not. 7 only keeps secrets for a reason. He risked his life by telling me. If he thought you were safe, he would've told you too. But he didn't, so neither can I."

"6, I'm on your side." It was pitifully unconvincing, though 6 knew that she wanted it to be true. 

"If we find 7, he can decide to tell you or not. But, you haven't found him." 6 immediately regretted his harshness when he saw the guilt pass over Pavia's face. "I want to talk to Dr. Levitsky."

"He's lost his mind. He won't talk to anyone."

"He's our only hope. 7 won't be able to give us any clues this time, but Levitsky knows Payne, he worked with him." 6 watched as Pavia considered long and hard. She wanted 6 to rest, wanted to take care of him, but she knew he was right. 

"I'll get you a wheelchair."

An hour later, 6 was being pushed through the halls of the Primary Capital Prison. When he reached the end of the hall, the guard accompanying 6 pressed his hand to the wall and entered a code. A section of the wall in front of him suddenly became transparent, revealing a stark white room, only a few yards deep. 6 turned to the guard and the attendant who had been pushing him.

"You should leave. He might be more willing to talk if I'm alone." The two exchanged a glance, but nodded. 

"Just call for us if you need anything." 6 nodded. He waited until the two had disappeared down the hall before turning to the cell in front of him. Against one wall stood a small cot where a man lay. It was Levitsky, 6 knew, but he was barely recognizable as the same man who had stood in front of their unit back in the lab, or even the man who had stood proudly in the courtroom just a few days ago. His cheeks and chin were covered in short grayish hair, and his eyes, which once burned with intensity were screwed shut, his head tossing from side to side as he mumbled to himself. 

"Dr. Levitsky." 6 raised his voice to ensure the man would wake if he was sleeping. Levitsky did not respond. "Dr. Levitsky, I need to talk to you. It's about 7." Levitsky stilled for a moment, but his eyes remained shut. "Dr. Levitsky, this is important." 6 put as much emphasis into the phrase as he could, but it was no use. 6 slumped back into his chair as the pain flared in his head. Why did I think I could do this? Why would he listen to me? 

"Fine. I'll be honest." 6 sighed in frustration. "I don't like you. You killed everyone I knew, all my friends but 7. You tried to kill me." 6 found his voice growing louder. "But you did worse than that. You lied. You lied to all of us. You tricked us and manipulated us. You gave us hope but it was all just lies and I hate you." 6 was struck by a stabbing pain that shot through his body like electricity. He clutched the armrests of his chair. "And then, you told 7 you cared about him. How could you say that to him?" 6 panted, trying to take a deep breath. "You said you were the closest thing to a family he would ever have." 6 fixed his eyes on Levitsky, writhing on the bed as though in pain, and was stunned with sudden understanding. "But you didn't mean that did you. You really meant to say that he is the closest thing to family you will ever have. So I hate you, but I can help. And I know why you wouldn't talk, why you couldn't talk to all the others who've come. But I understand." 6 looked down at his own feet. "He's the closest thing I have to family too." 6 sat for a long moment, catching his breath, unable to raise his eyes from the floor in front of him.

"You do not want revenge?" 6's head snapped up. Levitsky was staring at him.

"If we save 7, he'll be free and I'll be free. You'll be alone, in prison. That's revenge enough for me." Levitsky rose from the bed and walked slowly to the transparent wall that separated them, kneeling in front of it so that he was right in front of 6.

"What can I do to help?" 6 thought furiously. He had to find some way to let Levitsky know that they were on their own.

"There have been attacks, and 7 is suspected to be behind them." 6 fixed Levitsky with his gaze, willing him to understand. 

"Why do you tell me this?" 6 planned out his words carefully, making sure to give Levitsky enough emphasis to get his attention.

"You can't blame Pavia, the government leaders will not let Payne kill more people using him." And Levitsky understood. The slightest nod, his eyebrows raising in realization. It was enough.

"So what can I do? I would give you information on Payne's hideouts, but he was a secretive man. Even I, his own partner, was not given clearance." 6's heart fell, he had assumed Levitsky would have some sort of knowledge.

"You really don't know anything?"

"Not explicitly, no. Payne was aware of my qualms, of the differences in our perspectives. He did not trust me. He did not trust anyone."

"But he was so careful to ensure that no one would escape, he must have had some way to track down experiments if we ever escaped the lab."

"I don't recall there being one. I think he simply depended on the condition to take out any experiment who escaped."

"But what about in the lab? What if he wanted to locate an experiment within the complex?"

"The ID plaques were used for that purpose. Each one contains a distinct electrical signal and signature, but in order to transmit their signal, they had to be charged daily."

"Is there any chance that 7's plaque could've been charged?"

"None. Payne would not be so careless."

"Wouldn't there be some way to reverse it, to send out a signal that would respond to the electrical signature of the plaque?"

"Perhaps. You would need a specialist. Someone who knows the technology."

"I'll find one then. I'll-"

"You cannot." Levitsky's meaning was clear. "The team who created our technology have gone missing." It was a lie. A lie for the cameras monitoring them even now. Levitsky knew exactly where to find the team, but even if he could tell 6, there would be no way for 6 to go after them. There was no alternative. Levitsky would need to get out of jail.

"I'll go to the Police Station then. See if I can locate his plaque. There is a chance it will work right?" Levitsky knew the real question, understood 6's intent. 

"It's worth a try. What harm could it do?" 6 knew well the harm it could do, not to Levitsky, who was already sentenced for life, but to himself. His life was already at stake according to the GenetiBan, but committing a crime like this would severely harm his chances of being acquitted in court. But as desperately as he wanted to help 7 himself, to find him and save him himself, he knew it was impossible. Even if he could find the team Levitsky had spoken about, even if his strength held out long enough, he would have no way of knowing when he might collapse, when his body might give out and betray him. He was undependable. 

And with grim acceptance 6 realized that he had no choice. He would have to trust Levitsky, to pass on his own burden, his own life to the man. 6 had trusted before; back in the lab, he put his own life in 7's hands to escape, but it was easy then, different with 7. It felt like he was giving 7 something, now it felt like defeat. Like he had failed, like he was giving up. But 6 had no choice. Even if his body proved itself worthy of his trust and held out long enough to find 7, it wouldn't be enough, because there was still Pavia. Pavia who he loved but could not trust. So though it tore him apart, 6 trusted Levitsky. Levitsky who he hated, but who held his life in bloodstained hands


	29. Fear

Drishti Rajani was not running. She had never run from anything in her life. Drishti's hands were not shaking. What did she have to be afraid of? Or if they were, it was not from fear, not from stress, only a natural response to the rightful urgency of the situation. 947's behavior could not be dismissed this time. Whatever Payne was busy with, it could wait. 947's physical response, choking on the food she gave it, could be explained fairly easily by her theory; the stimulation was just too much. But the rest of it. The begging, shaking, its inexplicable words. There was no cause. In the primary lab, it had experienced violence almost to the point of death. How could something like this affect it so extremely? Drishti had to stop her train of thought there because she was close. The actual rules of the lab could hold no sway over her actual thoughts, but she was not so petty nor so naive as to think that the rules existed only to control the actions of Payne's employees. The goal was safety. Safety in a dangerous field. And Drishti could sense the danger in her own thoughts. 

Upon reaching Payne's office Drishti steeled herself. He would be stubborn, but she could be more stubborn. She knocked on the door. No response. She entered, only to find Payne's desk empty. No sign of him. And across the room was the door which Drishti guessed led to the command room, a room that, as a neurologist, she had never had cause or been given clearance to enter. But from Payne's room. She tried the door. It opened. The room was as dingy and dimly lit as the rest of the facility. Its computers, like all those in the base, were a step down from what they had had in the previous base. The dam had been Payne's primary fallback, a fraction of the size of the original lab, but well equipped and technologically superior to any other of his smaller bases. Although Payne had anticipated the possibility of a second police break-in and was as prepared as possible, there was a limit to what his means could provide. The genetic drug market was thriving, but meeting the financial demands of multiple laboratories plus staff was no easy feat. Still, Drishti found herself dismayed as she surveyed the mostly deserted room. _We'd better hope 947 stayed unconscious on the way here. If the Police find us, we have no hope against them this time._

Drishti could see no sign of Payne anywhere, but several of the monitors were on, showing some kind of news footage. A power plant surrounded by emergency teams. Reporters speculating about the cause. 

_This attack, like that on the Central Planetary Hospital, bears a striking resemblance to the previous attack on the Central Planetary Police Station, leading experts to believe that all three attacks are the work of Dr. Abraham Payne along with his creation, experiment 947._

So this was what had kept Payne so busy over the last few days. But despite what the press seemed to believe, 947 had played no part in these attacks. It had been unconscious, or in whatever delirious state it was now in. As Drishti watched and learned, it was clear to her that without 947 running it, its device was not quite as effective as Payne had hoped. 

"Pretty rough job, huh?" Drishti jumped, turning to see one of Payne's assistants. However, he didn't seem to be surprised to see her there. It occurred to Drishti that despite the irrelevance of her position, her relationship with Payne wasn't exactly discreet, and it might make her presence here seem natural in the eyes of his assistants. 

"I can't say I'm impressed."

"We got overconfident after the hospital. 422 casualties in the end, the police were in a panic." 422. So many deaths. And for what? Not for the progress or strength he had spoken so eloquently about. The police knew his strength. This was excessive. This was fear.

"Where is Dr. Payne?"

"He's doing the security checks. He'll be back in a few hours." The man gave her a wry smile. "Though if I told him you were waiting he might come faster." Drishti fixed him with a cold stare.

"There will be no need for that." She left the command room, a slight sick feeling pooling in her gut. How could I not have seen? _How did I not notice this change in him? I threw my career, my life into his hands, and now_... Disgust left a bitter taste in her mouth. 

She was back in his office, still empty, and though every logical part of her brain urged her to leave, there was something nagging at her. She sat down at his computer. Nearly everything would require his personal code, but not basic statistics, who was employed at the base. That was all she needed to know. Asher Bennet. The attendant chosen along with her to meet 947 for the first time. The one who smiled. She scrolled through personnel, looking for his name. Nowhere. Asher Bennet was no longer employed by the Levitsky-Payne Laboratories.

Drishti left the room. She needed to think, space to think, that was all. Back in her own quarters, she faced the truth. Asher Bennet was dead, without a doubt. Payne might have released some people altogether in the past, but not now. Why keep such a blatant liability alive, if he was willing to kill hundreds out of pointless fear? He could've moved Bennet within the lab, but it was clear that Payne was taking no risks now, not even reasonable ones. Asher Bennet was no longer employed. 

She would need to plan carefully now, knowing the irrational lengths that Payne's fear had driven him to. The report she had intended to give him would have to be... edited. Because now she understood Payne's reluctance to accept her doubts, his desperation to pass off 947's behavior for insanity. He was close, just as Drishti was. And if he came any closer, if he even began to accept the implications of 947's behavior, it would be his undoing. She would not be the one to give him the push. 

She had at most two hours before he would be back, the security checks would give her time to prepare for a confrontation. Then again, he might come across the footage of her interaction with 947. He might come to her. Drishti froze. The footage. She had been lost in the panic of the moment. _What did I say?_

She logged into her own computer and tapped into the footage. Not as bad as she had feared in her imagination, but bad enough. She had been caught off guard by its behavior, and her body language was off, no longer quite as rigid. She had tried to steady 947, to calm it. 'Shh, it's alright.' Despite her professional attitude, her compassionless delivery, it was blatant, textbook sympathy. Shit. Drishti knew it was nothing, she felt nothing for it, but she knew it wouldn't matter. Payne had killed a man for smiling, had killed hundreds just to calm whatever delusions were plaguing his mind. _If he sees this, I am everything he fears. If he sees this, I am dead._

Drishti tried to delete the footage, but she was unsurprised to find it was impossible. Payne would not allow anyone to keep secrets. Anyone but him that is. _So I need to leave. I need to escape somehow_. But Drishti knew that even in this lower-tier facility, she wouldn't be able to simply walk out the door; Payne was just as distrustful of his employees as he was of the police. And her technological skills would be pitifully inadequate if she were to try to break out. But if she had help. 947 was so desperate to live, and it surely knew that here, with Payne, its life was in constant jeopardy. If she could give 947 access to the command computers, even in its damaged and frenzied state, 947 would be able to figure something out. The security would be nothing to what it encountered in the police station. But getting it anywhere would be a nearly insurmountable challenge. 

The door to the room where 947 was kept was in front of her, though she didn't remember walking there. What would she do anyway? She couldn't just unstrap it and walk away. Drishti opened the door. She had no plan and it terrified her, but she kept walking. Anything was better than waiting, imagining what Payne was doing now, what he might have found out. 947 was staring at her. Its eyes tracked her progress across the room. A moment before, it had been writhing, squirming like a wounded animal, but as soon as it heard the door open it froze. Something had changed. The last time she came, when she fed it, it hadn't even seemed to see her, its eyes wandering as though it was blind. Now it seemed sharper, more alert. Drishti approached the bed. Careful not to make any obvious glances at the security cameras, she oriented herself so as to keep her own face out of the cameras' range of view. 

" _I want to help you_." She mouthed, as clearly as she could, " _How can I help you get out?_ "

947's face twisted oddly. It seemed to be trying to express something but Drishti couldn't guess what, and there was a limit as to how long she could stand there waiting. 

"Would you like to try eating again?" Drishti mentally slapped herself. The question was ridiculous; no one listening in would overlook its pointlessness. But 947 seemed to have some idea.

"I don't like the needle." Why would it tell her this? "Can you feed me through the plaque?" It was a bizarre request, completely illogical. Unless 947 had understood her message. Maybe something about the plaque on its arm could help it to escape.

"I can try. I'll go find the machine." As Drishti rummaged through the badly organized appliance storage closet, she tried to deduce what the plaque could be used for. Not communication surely, why would it be designed for such complex usage. In the four years she had spent in the LP lab, nobody had mentioned a use for the plaques other than identification. Still, she had interacted mainly with the other neurologists in the lab. The plaque could have been used for purposes completely unrelated to her field, purposes like security. Of course. It could be used for security, a way to track the experiments. 947 must be assuming that someone would get the signal, someone in the police force who could track it down. It was a good plan, but not fast enough. Drishti had no idea how much time she would have before Payne saw the footage and overcame any reluctance he might have. As she carried the plaque injector back 947's room, she planned. Anything she could do to distract him, to confuse him or to weaken his resolve would buy her time. She pressed 947's arm against the machine, hearing a soft beep and noticing the small green light that blinked on in the corner of the plaque. 

Back in the hallway, every instinct told her to go to her quarters, to find safety and hide, but property was an illusion in the lab, an illusion she could not afford to indulge. There was no safety. And running and hiding would only confirm her guilt, would only further convince Payne that she was weak, so she defied every instinct and made her way back to Payne's office. She could see it in his eyes. He had seen it. But she didn't give him the chance to confront her. Drishti threw herself at him with a frenzied passion. Pressing close, clinging to him. He suggested they move somewhere more appropriate, but Drishti refused, instead pressing the button to lock his office doors. _I am strong_. She begged him to believe it, every kiss a desperate plea. _I do not bend to you. Not to anyone_. And so she made love to her fear, faced him, gave herself to him, all the while praying it was enough. Praying he would not see that her heart raced and pounded not from passion but from terror. 


	30. Break

"What do you mean 'give up on 7's case'?" Mr. Brooks was furious. "You were the one who got me on his side. I thought you believed in a future for him."

"I know." Pavia's voice was warped and Mr. Brooks immediately regretted his outburst. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk that separated them. "I'm stuck. I'm really stuck. You know if I could do anything I would, but its not just about cops and robbers anymore. I have orders." There was a weariness in her voice that Brooks had never heard before. His brow furrowed. "As soon as anyone in this station gets a clue as to where Payne is the place will be gone in a matter of seconds."

"There's no way around it? No way to delay things?"

"I've been assured by the mayor himself that it would be impossible." Mr. Brooks pursed his lips. The mayor's influence under emergency circumstances had long been a subject of controversy, but as the law stood currently, there was no undermining his direct orders. Pavia's resistance would mean nothing. It would only get her fired and replaced with a more loyal officer. "The worst part is, the more I think about it, the more I question if I'm even in the right. There's been so much destruction, so much death. Wouldn't I be failing as a protector of the people if I were to allow Payne to continue his rampage? And 7 could be dead for all we know." Pavia shook her head. "I'm sorry. This isn't your problem, not your job." Her voice had turned strained, dismissive, but Brooks gave her a soft smile.

"What are friends for?" He asked with gentle playfulness. Pavia looked surprised for a moment, but managed to return his smile, albeit tiredly.

"I only wish I could tell 6. But he barely trusts me as it is, I can't afford to lose what little standing I have."

"Is he still at your house?"

"No. He asked to speak with Levitsky and afterward came back to the station.”

“Levitsky talked to him? I thought he was practically unreachable.” Pavia pursed her lips.

“He was, to me and all the other officers at least, but he and 6 reached some sort of agreement. 6 convinced him to put aside their differences and work together to help 7.” It sounded like a miracle to Brooks, but Pavia didn’t seem pleased. There was more to the situation.

“And what did they find?”

“Nothing yet. 6’s been hard at work on the computers for the past two hours. Apparently Levitsky found some way to track 7."

"Shouldn't you be in there with him?"

"He's well supervised. If the mayor hadn't told me I would be monitored, I would find some way of stopping him, delaying him at least, but Prideaux was clear. He wanted 6 to lead the investigation and he's right. 6 is the best shot we have of finding Payne." Mr. Brooks nodded. There was a knock on the door and Liang entered, looking distracted.

“Sorry I’m late, Grace.” She took a seat next to Mr. Brooks, facing Pavia’s desk. “Have you seen the latest reports?” Mr. Brooks shook his head. “The media have been covering the last attacks extensively, and they still haven’t given up their unfounded claims about 947, if anything they’ve become more extreme. They’ve surpassed caution at this point; it’s blatant fear-mongering.” Mr. Brooks frowned.

“And no one is reporting anything different? There must be a few networks taking an alternate stance.”

“There are, but they’re all under the public radar. Those willing to dig deep enough would find the articles, the alternate theories, but most will easily accept the first headline they see, and that headline isn’t looking good for 7.” Pavia sighed.

“That may be less of a problem than you think it is.” She paused for a moment and Brooks could see the muscles in her jaw clenching. “It’s impossible to save him. Prideaux ordered me to bomb Payne’s base as soon as we find it.” Liang was silent. She knew Pavia well enough not to question her. “I suggest that you focus your efforts on keeping 6 clean. Keep him out of the news as much as you can.” Liang pursed her lips.

“I hate to be the one to say this, but is there even hope for 6?” Pavia looked shocked, but Liang pressed on. “Surely you must have considered it. He’s got a week or two, at most to live.”

“You want me to just give up on a dying boy?” Pavia was livid, her previous exhaustion gone without a trace, but Liang looked unapologetic. As Mr. Brooks watched her expression, he just barely caught a hint of something else: smugness. _Of course_. He realized. _She saw that Pavia was losing her passion, her defiance, and she gave her just enough antagonism to re-light the flame, to remind her of who she is._ Mr. Brooks smiled to himself. It was a smart move. As impractical as Pavia’s stubborn morality could be, it was what had pushed everything so far, what had kept 6 and 7 out of Prideaux’s control and had gotten Brooks himself on the boy’s side. They couldn’t afford to lose her. “We can save him,” Pavia continued. “The doctors have been working on his case non-stop. We just need to make sure he’ll be free once he’s cured. We can’t let him get tangled up in the same mess as 7.” Liang opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by the communicator on Pavia’s desk.

“Captain, there’s been an incident at the Central Planetary Prison.”

“Elaborate.”

“There appeared to have been a toxic leak in one of the sectors. The life support systems were deemed corrupted and all prisoners in that sector given emergency release.”

“Complete release?”

“Yes sir. Normally they would have been evacuated to a different sector, but the passageways were sealed off, apparently compromised.” Before the officer had finished his sentence, Pavia was out of her chair and on her way out of the office, carrying her communicator with her. Brooks and Liang followed her out the door, almost running to catch up.

“Do you think it’s another attack? A prison break?” Mr. Brooks asked. Pavia nodded hurriedly and spoke again into her communicator.

“Who were the released prisoners? Anyone of note?”

“Five, Captain. All convicted on charges of multiple homicide. The most recently convicted was Dr. Fyodor Levitsky.” Liang’s eyes widened.

“Payne must be trying to get Levitsky to return to him,” she exclaimed, but Pavia shook her head.

“It makes no sense. Payne would know that we can track Levitsky anywhere he goes. Releasing Levitsky would be pointless unless Payne also had some brilliant plan to get his tracker taken out before the officers catch up to him.” She took a turn, heading towards the investigatory sector. “Where are the prisoners now?” she asked the officer in her communicator.

“Three are waiting just outside the facility for the officers to arrive. The security is preventing them from getting through. The other two made a run for it. Levitsky was one of them-” Pavia's communicator abruptly cut off and a new voice spoke.

“Do not recover Dr. Levitsky.” Mayor Prideaux barked. “He could lead us to Payne, but only if he thinks he isn’t being followed. That’s an order, Captain.”

“Understood,” Pavia hissed through gritted teeth. She turned a dial on her communicator and spoke again to the officer. “Activate the tracking chips in both runaways, but don’t go after Levitsky. Monitor his movements but don’t send anyone after him. Do you understand?”

“Yes Captain.” Pavia put her communicator in her pocket as she burst through the doors to the investigatory sector. Mr. Brooks jogged for a moment to catch up to her. There was something nagging at him, something still unanswered.

“Grace,” he said, placing a hand on her arm to stop her for a moment “If Payne isn’t responsible for this attack, who is?” A shadow passed over her face and she strode past him into the main computer room. The room was chaos, swarming with technicians and officers all barking orders at each other. But Pavia seemed to barely notice the commotion. She pushed her way towards a small bald head just visible over the back of his chair. 6 was surrounded by officers who seemed to be questioning him, their faces stricken with various degrees of anger and fear. As she approached, one of the officers stopped her.

“Captain, we’ve been trying to question him. We looked through his computer, he was tampering with the Prison system during the time of the attack.” Pavia ignored the officer, her face settling deeper into its unreadable mask. She swung 6’s chair around, grasping its armrests with whitened knuckles as she bent to face him.

“6.” Mr. Brooks was startled to hear the rough intensity of her voice. “Tell me it wasn’t you.” 6 flinched under the intensity of her gaze, looking more pale, thin, and young than ever.

“Would it help?” 6’s voice was barely audible. Pavia shook her head. She stood up, raising her voice.

“946, you are under arrest for suspicion of assisting a prison break.” Liang pulled Pavia aside, whispering furiously.

“Are you out of you mind? We can’t have this on his record.”

“I can’t keep it off. Prideaux has me monitored at all times. Preventing the investigation would only get me fired.” Liang nodded reluctantly. The evidence against 6 was already known to everyone in the room. There was no way to lawfully repress it. Pavia turned to address the room. “I want to make it clear that as of now, we cannot definitively prove 946’s guilt. Anyone who reports otherwise, to anyone will be considered guilty of bearing false testimony and will be subject to a hearing and appropriate disciplinary action.” Pavia surveyed the room, but as her eyes fell on 6, Mr. Brooks saw her expression shatter. She was on her knees in a moment. “6? Are you alright 6?” 6’s face was screwed up in agony, his body hunched over.

“6, can you tell us what’s wrong?” Mr. Brooks asked, rushing to 6’s side. 6 only groaned.

“Medic! We need a medic here,” Pavia called out. Several officers rushed to call for help. Brooks looked to Pavia unsure of how to help, but she was just as lost, her face raw and open. Suddenly, 6 cried out and his body spasmed powerfully, growing rigid for an instant before collapsing like a rag doll. He slid out of his chair, completely limp, and Pavia was there to catch him, gathering him in her arms with surprising gentleness. 6 was still conscious, his eyes fluttering briefly open before he screwed them tightly shut against the pain. One of the officers cleared his throat, loudly, and Mr. Brooks knew it was time for Pavia to return to her duties. She could grieve, could fall apart, but not in front of her subordinates, and Mr. Brooks feared that if she stayed any longer, tenderly cradling a suspected criminal she would lose any appearance of impartiality she had been able to maintain. Liang placed a hand on her shoulder, a warning, and Pavia understood. She lifted 6’s limp body, turning to Mr. Brooks, and as she offered 6 to him, there was no hint of professionalism in her face. It was the expression of a mother, handing over her child. She said nothing, gave him no instruction, but Mr. Brooks understood and nodded as reassuringly as he could. An officer tapped on his shoulder.

“Mr. Brooks, there’s an ambulance waiting outside the station. Should we have them send in a team?” Mr. Brooks shook his head glancing at Pavia. He stood, careful not to jostle 6 too much.

“There’s no need. I’ll get him out myself.” Mr. Brooks made his way out of the investigatory sector and had just entered the main lobby of the station when he glanced down to see 6 staring at him. “We’re almost to the ambulance, 6.” 6 nodded weakly. “Would you like me to accompany you to the hospital?” 6 shook his head.

“I would like it,” he admitted, “but you have a lot of work to do. I’ll be alright.” Mr. Brooks chuckled to himself in amazement. The boy was in extreme pain, being taken to the hospital, yet he was consoling Mr. Brooks.

“You’re right. I do have a lot to do. It would help if I had some idea why you broke Levitsky out of prison.”

“I know about Pavia’s orders.” 6 grimaced in pain and had to stop and gasp for breath. “I just wanted to save 7.”

“I see.” Mr. Brooks hardly approved of his actions, but there was logic to them. Pavia was unable to work outside the law, so 6 felt he had to take matters into his own hands. Mr. Brooks reached the doors to the station. Outside the paramedics were waiting, preparing a stretcher for 6 inside the ambulance, but just before he reached the door he felt 6’s hand around his arm.

“Tell Pavia it’s not her fault.” 6’s voice was weak but purposeful. “I know she will be sad, and angry, but she shouldn’t be.” There were tears in his eyes as he stared up at Mr. Brooks. “I love her, but I didn’t have a choice.” The paramedics lifted 6 out of Brooks’s arms. “That doesn’t make it alright, but it’s better isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” Mr. Brooks watched, numb, as 6 was rolled into the ambulance. The next few days would be hell he knew. Trying to keep 6 out of the media, completely reworking the case for 6’s freedom. But Mr. Brooks knew he could do it, because he believed in his work. No matter what story the press tried to spin, nothing would make him forget what he had seen: the kindness and compassion of the boy, even in the face of personal hardship and danger. 6’s life was a life worth saving.

* * *

Payne watched the security footage twice. Drishti had only just left his office when he received a message from the security team, alerting him to some concerning footage. The first time he saw it, Payne was in disbelief. That couldn’t be her. Comforting it, calming it like a child. Had she lost her senses? He watched the video again and this time the incredulity was gone, replaced by reluctant resignation. Payne had set a precedent: any show of compassion warranted immediate dismissal. But he hesitated. No one would question his authority if he didn’t act. And how changed could she be? He had just seen her, she was just with him, as passionate and powerful as ever.

No. Payne brought his desperate excuses to a stuttering stop. Exceptions were dangerous, and Payne had seen them in action. Once, eight years ago, he had let Levitsky talk him into making an exception, into letting 947 live. He had watched as Levitsky became more evasive, made more excuses. Levitsky broke the rules and it broke him, made him fall apart.

Payne didn’t give himself the chance to second-guess his decision. With a few keystrokes he gave the order to have Drishti dismissed. He would not let himself fall like Levitsky, wouldn’t use excuses to hide from himself.

It was his own fault after all. He had known the rules, not just those for his employees, but the one rule he had always held himself to. The only thing he was allowed to care about was progress. If he ever found himself caring about anything, anyone else, he killed it before it killed him. The rule had kept him alive, kept him strong for eighteen years. Safe from distraction, safe from weakness, safe from pain.

Payne’s head fell into his hands.


	31. Running

The streets of the Planetary Capital were too wide for Levitsky’s liking. Even in the darkness of night, dressed in civilian’s clothes he could not stop himself from glancing around, turning his face away from passers-by. He had made a brief stop at one of Payne’s many emergency apartments, leftover from the days before the lab was constructed, when dodging the police had been a way of life for Payne and Levitsky. In the apartment, he shaved and changed his clothes making himself appear as respectable as possible. It was a risk to stay in one place for any amount of time, but it was a greater risk to walk the streets dressed like a prisoner. And if the police intended to stop him, it would be out of his hands. They were undoubtedly tracking him, and Levitsky could only hope that someone in the police station had realized the usefulness of letting him roam free. He was the only one who had any chance of finding Payne, and while releasing him themselves would have been out of the question, now that Levitsky had already been released the logic of allowing him to roam free might overcome Pavia’s self-righteousness. 

Fortunately for Levitsky, the team that had designed the technology for the LP Laboratory had an office in the capital. The Police force had some limited awareness of the illegal genetic drug market in the planet’s more remote locations, but their arrogance prevented them from suspecting how well-rooted and thoroughly integrated the system was, operating quietly underneath their upturned noses, a web of scientists, technicians and dealers who smoothly took their work underground as they sensed the law turning against them. So just over an hour after leaving his cell, Levitsky approached a four-story office complex. It was well-kept, the metal only slightly tarnished, the windows clouded with a respectable degree of grime. The perfect camouflage of mediocrity. But Levitsky knew better than to enter the building in darkness. Nothing would make them less willing to help him than compromising the security of their establishment. He would have to wait it out. Would have to stop moving. 

Levitsky felt a chill pass through him. The stopping was always the worst. Levitsky found a street corner nearby where a few trees and benches provided a suitable shelter. Pulling his hood over his head he curled up on the ground, hiding his face with an arm. The chill of the ground seeped into him. It was colder than it should have been. A familiar cold. Levitsky opened his eyes suddenly, his heart racing. 

The train. He had missed the train. 

Levitsky sat up, trying to clear his head. There was no train. He wasn’t going anywhere. He curled up again, forcing himself to relax. It was still late, and he would need sleep, would need to be in his right mind for the day to come. He drifted off, a brief moment of bliss before he was jolted awake. 

_I can’t sleep. Can’t miss the next train to Moscow._

Levitsky pulled his jacket tighter around him. Stopped. He patted the pockets. Where did he put his papers? He ripped off the jacket, plunging his hands into the pockets. Nothing. Of course. He didn’t bring any papers. Why would he have papers? Levitsky calmed himself once more. He was in the capital. There was no train, no papers. But as Levitsky sunk back to the cold ground, he found himself wondering whether Mama had woken yet. Whether she had gone into his room to find his bed empty. Whether she had cried for him, had looked for him. Whether she had forgotten yet.

As light began to filter through the branches above him, Levitsky slowly eased back into consciousness. Straightening his clothes back into place, he stood, waiting a minute to ensure that no one would notice a seemingly homeless man getting up and walking into an office. In the waiting area of the office, Levitsky was surprised by the number of people. It was necessary to maintain a number of legal clients to avoid suspicion, but with business this good, Levitsky wondered if they were still involved in illegal dealings at all. If not, he was taking a huge risk by coming here. 

He stood in line to speak to the receptionist, trying his best to look unobtrusive. When he reached the desk he cleared his throat. 

“I would like to speak to Dr. Yvonne Eriksen. Is she available?”

“Dr. Eriksen is a very busy woman.” The man smiled condescendingly. “Who should I tell her is asking to meet with her?”

“Just tell her it is a representative from the LP corporation. We’ve done business in the past.” The man’s eyes widened; the initials seeming to register on his face. 

“I see. It’s been a while, sir.” Levitsky nodded. “Give me a minute.” The man left the room quickly. Levitsky waited, carefully avoiding the curious gaze of the woman waiting behind him. When the man returned, he walked around the main desk. “This way, sir. Your meeting will begin in just a moment.” Levitsky followed the man through a side door and past a hallway lined with doors. When they reached the end of the hall, the man opened a door and gestured for Levitsky to enter. Inside was a large glass table surrounded by high-backed chairs, clearly equipped for executive meetings. The door shut behind him. At the far end of the room, Dr. Eriksen rose from her seat at the table. 

“Are you out of your mind, Fyodor?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“This isn’t a joke.” She sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s…good to see you again, but coming here is madness.”

“Oh? I thought you were still in the business, and I needed some assistance. Were my assumptions incorrect.” Dr. Eriksen frowned.

“Not exactly. We have…cut down a bit, but that’s beside the point. I’ve been keeping up with the news and I’m not a miracle worker. You’ve gotten yourself in too deep, Fyodor, and you’re not getting out.”

“I know. This is not about my own freedom. I need to locate one of the experiments.”

“Why?” Dr. Eriksen eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I thought the experiments would get sick and die anyway.”

“I’m not trying to kill him. He is… important to me.” Dr. Eriksen raised her eyebrows. 

“I see.” Her tone was a direct contradiction to her words.

“Clearly you do not.”

“I do, really. I’m merely surprised.”

“Can you help?”

“Does he have a working plaque?”

“Yes, but I doubt it would be charged. I was hoping you might be able to utilize the electrical signature to locate it.”

“It’s a possibility.” Dr. Eriksen paused for an agonizing moment, considering. Finally, she gave in. “Follow me. We’ll see what we can do.” Levitsky followed her down a flight of stairs. They passed through a technical lab where the lawful products of the company were designed and into a smaller facility. Any outsider would merely assume it was an older, less used section of the laboratory, but Levitsky knew better. The subtle fingerprint scanners on the door told him all he needed to know. Dr. Eriksen approached one of the few technicians. He looked up at Levitsky questioningly.

“This is a representative from the LP corporation. He needs our assistance in locating some missing….property.” Dr. Eriksen glanced briefly at Levitsky. “Are the LP systems still accessible?” The technician turned to her computer, working silently for a moment.

“The on-site computer system is down, as one might expect, but we should be able to pinpoint any experiment, given the tracking chip is still intact.”

“Even if the plaque is uncharged? It is unlikely the experiment will be giving out any signal.”

“That might cause some difficulties.” He frowned slightly. “But I’ll do my best. Which experiment are you looking for?”

“Experiment #947.”

“In the meantime,” Dr. Eriksen interjected, “I imagine you’ll be wanting you’re own tracking chip taken care of?”

“Yes, only I would prefer if it could be done with discretion.”

“Of course. We’ll demagnetize the device as subtly as possible, and if you desire, we can replicate the signal from a separate device, send it off as a decoy.” Levitsky smiled.

“I see I have come to the right place.”

“It’s fairly simple technology. The police have never needed to upgrade it because they are not in the habit of letting criminals run loose as long as you.” She led him out of the room and into another, packed with computers, scanners, and medical instruments. Dr. Eriksen closed the door behind her and she was close again. She passed a scanner up and down his body, around his limbs.

“Don’t you have an assistant? Someone who could do this for you? I thought you were busy.”

“I am.” She smiled up at him from the ground where she was scanning his foot. “But not too busy for an old friend.” 

“I see.”

“Clearly you do not.” She chuckled. “Have you forgotten already? Twelve years is a long time, but it did not seem like a forgettable act to me.”

“I did not forget. Of course not. But it changed nothing in the end. The law softened over the following years. Even if I had refused to help you, you could’ve gotten a child legally if you had waited a few years. My help was meaningless.” Dr. Eriksen stood.

“My daughter is not meaningless to me. Nor is she meaningless to my husband nor to anyone who has had the good fortune of knowing her.”

“So you have never regretted it. You never wished you had waited until it was legal?”

“My husband and I were desperate, we were tired of waiting, of trying and failing. The ban was so strict at its conception, we thought it would never change. And besides, we wanted to ensure she would have an advantage. Before the ban, it was impossible to find work and even afterwards it took years for me to get on my feet.”

“So you were not modified, I take it?” She shook her head.

“I was reluctant to take illegal clients, but I didn’t have a choice at first. Payne was offering more than all my legal customers combined.” She paused for a moment at his shoulder, and after a satisfied smile, reached for another tool, which she held over the area for a few seconds. “You’re all set. I just need to transfer the signal to a decoy.” She turned away from him, putting away her instruments.

“I am glad you do not regret asking for my help.” She turned to face him.

“Why is that?”

“Because I will not have to regret helping you.” He lowered his gaze to the floor. “I have many things to regret, but I am glad your daughter is not one of them.”

“I hope she never is. I have never regretted her. Not for a moment. She is everything.” Levitsky breathed in sharply, and Dr. Erikson’s brow furrowed in concern. “Are you ready to tell my why you are really here, Fyodor?” Levitsky took a deep breath, and it shook him, rattling through his body.

“I used my own DNA to make him. 7.” Levitsky raised a shaking hand through his hair. “I told myself it was an experiment, a test, to see if I was strong enough. But I loved him as a son. From the moment his eyes first opened, I knew he could never be just an experiment.” Finally, Levitsky managed to raise his gaze, and when his eyes met Dr. Eriksen’s he saw that they were full of tears. As he watched, she collected herself, setting her jaw, blinking away her tears.

“What have you done to yourself?” She shook her head in dismay. “I’m glad you want to help him, but you must realize he will never be your son. You may never even see him again.” Her words were harsh, and they stung him as only truth could, but her tone held nothing but compassion.

“I know.” Levitsky took another rattling breath. “But I must _do_ something.” He looked her straight in the eyes, pausing for a moment. “You would do the same, I think, were you in my place.”

“A child for a child then.” She smiled sadly at him. “The only way to truly repay what you gave me.” Yvonne turned away from him, sitting down at a nearby computer. She connected the scanner and another smaller device to the main console and waited. After a few minutes, Levitsky spoke suddenly.

“How is she, your daughter?” Yvonne looked up at him surprised.

“We called her Kiersten, a family name. She’s brilliant, unlike any other child I’ve ever known.”

“But, is she…happy?” Yvonne frowned slightly.

“Yes. I think she is. It is difficult for her sometimes, having no one to connect to intellectually, hiding her true intelligence, but she is loved.” She paused. “It is a life worth living, Fyodor. 947 can be loved, he will face hardship but he can live as Kiersten has, he can find a way.” Yvonne stood, holding a small rectangular chip. “This now carries the exact signature and signal as your tracking chip. I will send one of my people out with it. Hopefully it will be enough to distract the police until you can find 947.” Levitsky nodded, unable to find words to express his gratitude. Yvonne led him back into the main room, where the technician they had spoken to was waiting for them. 

“I think I’ve found his location.”

“Brilliant work, I’m impressed.” 

“Not quite as brilliant as it seems, Dr. Eriksen. Somehow his plaque was fully charged.” Dr. Eriksen frowned.

“That is surprising. Either Payne is getting lazy, or someone is trying to get our attention.”

“Either way, we have a location for you now.” The technician showed Levitsky a map on his console. It was about thirty miles outside the city in what appeared to be a small, mining town. 

“Would it be possible to provide me with some sort of transportation? Using public transit would increase the likelihood of my being recognized.”

“Yes, however, we should change your clothes give them to a decoy who will leave with the tracking chip. After about an hour, we’ll put you on a techno-transport vehicle which can get you within a few miles of the location. We have a client nearby, which could explain our making a visit, but if we get too close, it will arouse suspicion.”

“I understand. I’ve endangered your company enough.” He turned to face her. “I cannot thank you enough for your help, nor can apologize enough for the trouble I have no doubt brought upon you.” Yvonne merely shook her head.

“I can’t say I approve of everything you’ve done, but I’m in no position to judge. Call me naive, but I always believed you to have good intentions.” She met his gaze straight on. “I hope you prove me right.” As Levitsky turned to leave, he felt something cold, metallic pressed against his hand. On instinct he gripped it, lifting it in front of him, to find it was a gun. Sleek, small, but powerful. He opened his mouth to question Yvonne, but she was gone. He tucked the gun into his belt.

Levitsky spent the next hours in a daze. He changed his clothes and clambered into the back of the company’s vehicles where he sat unmoving as the city blurred past, waiting for the cold to return, the heaviness of remembrance to weigh him down again. But it did not. And it was not until Levitsky climbed out of the vehicle, until he felt the afternoon sun on his face and the arid dust of the valley blow against him, until he opened his eyes wide and felt them burn with light, that he realized why.

He had been running, running since the gate of Kasimov clanged shut behind him. Now, Levitsky was still running, but for the first time in eighteen years he wasn't running away. 


	32. Rules

Pavia rubbed her eyes as surreptitiously as she could. Even after they had been following Levitsky for almost ten hours, there were still too many eyes on her, too many people waiting for another sign of weakness. She would not give it to them. Yet as Pavia passed from room to room, answering questions, supervising the operations, the hopelessness of it all began to sink in. For the time being, they were keeping their distance from Levitsky, tracking him only with the chip that had been implanted into his skin, but there were a dozen hovercraft, ground vehicles, and citywide security specialists that were prepared to jump into action should she give the word, and the longer she waited, the more suspicious she would appear to be. As to the signal they were following, there were two options: either Levitsky was confident to the point of self-delusion and the chip was truly his, or he had managed to locate and remove the chip and it was now being carried by someone else. In either case, Pavia knew her job, she would need to delay visual contact for as long as possible. She had sent her officers out to the first place Levitsky stopped, telling them to conduct a needlessly thorough search of the apartment. She would do her best to delay the missiles, but for all she knew, Mayor Prideaux might bypass her authority completely, wiping out any area as soon as the officers suspected it.

Pavia’s communicator beeped, signaling a call to her office computer. She hurried to her office, accepting the call.

“Excuse me. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Mr. Brooks, you’re a welcome sight.” 

“I’ve come to give you an update on the case for 6’s freedom.”

“I hate to think the damage this episode with Levitsky has done.”

“It’s considerable, but manageable. He has a very noble motive, rash as his actions were. Upon interviewing 6 and reviewing the footage of his conversation with Levitsky, Sophia and I shouldn’t have any problem convincing the court of his motives. And though his actions were illegal, he’s a minor, a child, who furthermore, we can prove had no education or knowledge of the laws of earth. He probably did understand that what he was doing was illegal, but there’s no way of proving it, and he certainly didn’t know what the consequences would be.” 

“That's a relief.” Pavia hesitated. They had discussed all the legal necessities. “I just wish he had trusted me. Even though I’m under orders, he could’ve talked to me, worked out a safer plan.”

“Look, I don’t like this either, but 6 had no way of knowing that you were safe to go to for help, and the more people he told about his plan, the more likely it would be that someone would try to stop it. Plus, if you’d been involved, you could’ve lost your job, as well as your credibility in court. At least you still have your position and your reputation.”

“I know. I’ll make good use of them in his defense.” Mr. Brooks smiled slightly.

“I have no doubt of it.” Mr. Brooks hesitated for a minute. “He loves you.” Pavia furrowed her brow. How could he know that? Why would he tell her? “6 told me. He was in pain, he’d just been arrested, and all that mattered to him was making sure you knew that he loved you, that he was sorry.” Pavia’s eyes filled with sudden tears, which she blinked rapidly away.

“What are you saying?”

“Nothing.” Mr. Brooks shrugged slightly. “Just that he loves you and he deserves to be happy.” Pavia nodded numbly. She agreed. He deserved to be happy, but there was more in Mr. Brooks’s face, more in his words, more than nothing.

* * *

Drishti was growing desperate. She had left Payne in his office in breathless disarray, but she knew it wouldn’t last. She needed protection, preparation. She paced the halls, wandering with an desperate aimlessness in the hopes that some sort of plan or solution would reveal itself. Eventually, whether from habit or from subconscious inspiration, Drishti found herself in the neurology department. It was empty, as only a few neurologists had made the two lab transfers. She glanced around the room, taking in the experimental equipment and database computers until her gaze landed on the drug cabinet. Of course. The only weapon she would be able to get her hands on. 

Drishti entered her personal code and opened the cabinet, surveying the array of syringes. There were no explicit poisons, but Drishti was familiar with every drug, and knew which could be lethal if administered in a high enough dose. She quickly tucked four syringes into her coat. On her left side, two lethal drugs, and on her right, two that would incapacitate a person. Armed and confident, she left the neurology department, only to find a security officer waiting for her in the hallway. Drishti’s heart responded immediately, pounding frantically in her chest. She had seen security officers before of course, they manned the surveillance stations, checked the physical and technological integrity of the lab, but this officer was different. A small patch on his chest designated him as one of Payne’s personal officers.

“Dr. Rajani, due to hazardous and unprofessional behavior, you have been dismissed from the LP Laboratories. Please follow me for your mandatory check out procedure.” Drishti immediately quelled the small part of her that believed him. That suggested that she was different, that Payne would make an exception for her. It was foolishness, and Drishti would not risk her life for a foolish hope.

The officer turned and led her down the hall. Drishti followed him closely, weighing her options, she was reluctant to use one of her lethal drugs so early, but the incapacitators were risky. The officer was tall, strong and bulky, and if the tranquilizer didn’t take effect quickly enough, she would be unable to restrain him or stop him from sounding an alarm. She slowly reached into the left side of her coat, running through the effects of the two drugs. The first was used to control behavior by stimulating pain receptors in the brain. In large doses it would cause death within seconds, a definite advantage, but the extreme pain it caused would result in screaming, which could draw unwanted attention. The second was used in small doses to subdue dangerously insane patients. Paralysis, convulsions, asphyxiation and death. The whole process would take about ten minutes, but the paralysis would prevent him from making any noise and give her time to get him out of sight. 

Drishti’s hand closed around the second syringe. She waited until they turned into a small, empty corridor before drawing close to him, keeping her right shoulder behind his to conceal her right arm from him. Looking up and down the hall one last time, she lifted her arm, and in a sharp, fluid motion, jabbed the needle into his neck. His body seized up and Drishti hastily grabbed him by the arms to stop him from falling noisily to the ground. She glanced up and down the hall again, eyes landing on a small, unused storage closet. She pulled the officer’s unresponsive body across the hall as quickly as she could, but he was heavy and her hands were no longer steady and unquestioning. Now was the true test, when at any second someone might emerge from a doorway or the end of hall and see her. Every noise was a door opening, every shifting shadow, an officer about to the turn into the hall. When she finally reached the closet, she pulled the officer inside behind her closing the door. He had begun to twitch, his muscles jerking randomly. Drishti paused for a moment, her back against the door as she caught her breath. After cracking open the door to make sure no one was outside, she slipped out into the hall, adopting as purposeful and unaffected a stride as she could. She crossed the hall without looking back at the closet, heading straight for the room where 947 was held. She needed the officer dead, but she had no desire to see him suffocate, to watch as his airways constricted and choked him.

Drishti’s next step was obvious: get Payne out of the way before he learns anything about what she had done. The biggest flaw in Payne’s system of command was his lack of trust. Every order, every act, came directly from Payne, and without him, no one had the authority to do anything, or to question her if she claimed to be under his orders. But first she would need to eliminate Payne, and that would require privacy. She knew security cameras had poor coverage in the base, but this was not a time to take risks, and the only place she could be sure was not actively monitored was Payne’s own office. 

In far too little time, the door to Payne’s office was in front of her. She didn’t knock; it would only give him time to prepare for her arrival. Luckily the door was open, unlocked. Payne was at his desk, his head supported by the fingers of his left hand, which pinched the bridge of his nose. His brows were furrowed, lips twisted, conflicted emotions painted across his face. It was weakness, and Drishti planned to use it. However, when he heard the door shut behind her, his head snapped up, and look of shock and horror passed over his face. Drishti smiled to herself. _I was afraid before, because I thought you held my life in your hands. But now if you want me dead, you’ll have to do it here, now._ But Drishti had seen his weakness, his conflict, and she knew she had nothing to fear.

“Drishti, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Is it a bad time?” Drishti crossed the room, and leaned casually on his desk, slipping her hand into the right pocket of her coat. 

“No, it’s just that, well, I thought after-” Drishti leaned in close, her eyes locking on to his. Her left hand felt blindly for the switch on his desk that would seal the doors to the room.

“Tongue-tied already?” She smirked and met his lips with hers, playful, but insistent. She could feel his hesitance, his reluctance, but to refuse her outright would mean having to reveal what he had done, to explain himself. So he kissed her with unspoken guilt. Coward.  
Drishti kept her eyes open, waiting for him to be most vulnerable. When she felt him relax, felt his lips soften and yield to hers, she raised her right hand to his neck. She pressed the syringe against the exposed flesh, and felt Payne’s entire body stiffen.

“The syringe against your neck contains a lethal drug. Make a single move and I will inject you instantly.” Drishti watched as Payne’s expression changed from surprise to fury in an instant. 

“What do you want?”

“I want the passcode to your computer.”

“And then, what?” He scoffed, “You’ll let me go?”

“It doesn’t matter what I do. Tell me the passcode or you’re dead.”

“And how do you plan to get the passcode when I’m dead?” She injected half of the drug into him immediately, enough to cloud his brain and make slow him down. 

“Tell me the passcode.” She ordered, and this time, Payne responded without question, his voice slow and slurred. 

“The passcode is 42983310.” Drishti repeated in in her head several times until she was sure she could remember it, before injecting Payne with the remainder of the drug. His eyes widened in surprise for a second, before his entire body went limp, sliding out of his chair. Drishti let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding before surveying the office. There were three doors in the room: one that led out into the hall, one that led to the command room, and a third that she had never used, located just behind Payne's desk. Drishti looked all around the doorframe, but found no way of entering, no keypad, palm sensor, nothing. But dragging him out into the relatively busy hall was a dangerous risk, so Drishti went to Payne’s computer, entering his passcode. She was baffled by the options that appeared on her screen, but eventually found a control marked “safe” with the option to lock or unlock. She selected “unlock” and heard a quiet beep from across the room. Reaching down, she grabbed Payne by the arms and dragged him to the door, which she pushed open easily. The room was small, with bare metal walls and nothing else, no furniture, no containers, no weapons. But it made sense, a private prison that only Payne would have control over, where he could hide anyone or anything he wanted.

Drishti deposited Payne’s unconscious body on the metal floor and left, closing the door and locking it, not that she needed to; the sedative she had given Payne would subdue him for at least three hours. With Payne out of her way, it was clear what Drishti had to do. Payne’s passcode clearly gave her access to crucial controls, but Drishti didn't know how to use them. Some of the other, more technologically knowledgeable employees might be able to help, but she couldn’t trust them. Drishti was breaking rules, and everyone in the lab was only alive because Payne knew they wouldn't break his rules. But she had to find a way. Drishti had faced her fear, had saved herself for the moment, but it was only a matter of time, before someone noticed Payne’s absence, before someone found the dead security officer in the closet, and when that happened, Drishti would need to be gone.


	33. Light

7 didn’t mind the light as much anymore. It still blinded him, made him squint and made his head ache, but it was better than darkness. 7 couldn’t remember the last time he slept. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw things, things that weren’t real. Sometimes 6, crying. Sometimes needles, piercing his skin. But mostly, he saw the closet, looking down on the empty face in the shadows. In his mind, he saw blood, blood everywhere, heard the sickening thud of the surface cleaner. He woke screaming.

7 could see now, could process the blinding lights that pressed at his brain. When the woman had come, offering to help him he had watched her, had read her lips, but his switchboard was as unresponsive as ever. The sounds still rushed at him, the lights still pressed constantly, and the straps, the straps were the worst. He would force himself to hold still, to relax so they wouldn’t scrape at his skin, but he could only maintain it for a few seconds. Then he would thrash out, muscles shaking, straining, until he exhausted himself. And every time it seemed to get worse. After what felt like hours, 7 was at his limit. He had tried to calm himself, but he could feel his heart racing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He pulled against his straps hopelessly, barely even noticing the stabbing pains that ran up his limbs. _I can’t do it._ He thought desperately. _I can’t, I can’t, I can’t._ He thrashed wildly, his entire body spasming. His throat was raw, and he could faintly make out his own voice in the chaos, a cry of despair.

7 felt something else against his arm, a hand, warm and firm, but he didn’t care. He heard a voice, yelling over his own but he didn’t know what it said. Suddenly there was cool air on his wrist. Free. He was free.

“Don’t move.” The voice commanded him, and he heard it this time. He bit his lip furiously, forcing himself to be quiet. There were hands on him, unfastening the straps on his trembling body, and 7 felt himself relax with every strap. As soon as he was completely free, he tucked in his arms and legs, curling up on his side before anyone could stop him. His limbs felt light, numb, and his whole body ached from the release.

“We need to leave.” The voice said, and he recognized it now. It was the same woman who had offered to help him, who had fed him. “Payne’s orders, he needs you in the command room.”

“Crutches.” 7’s voice was hoarse, but insistent. “I need my crutches.” After a few seconds, he felt the cold metal pipes against his hand and he grabbed them, grasping until his knuckles turned white. He pushed himself upright, using the crutches as leverage, and his head immediately started to spin. 

“Hurry up, Payne doesn’t like to wait.” 7 swung his feet over the edge of the bed, but as soon as he tried to pull himself to his feet, he felt his body sway, his arms clumsy and weak. The woman crossed the room and held the door open for him, waiting expectantly. 7 steeled himself, and lurched across the room, feeling as though he were on the verge of collapse. Once through the door, the woman bent close to his ear, whispering furiously. “I’ve managed to drug Payne, and I have the password to his computer. I need you to figure out how to get out of this lab. Can you do that?” 7 nodded. With access to Payne’s personal computer, it couldn’t be too difficult, even to his overwhelmed brain. The woman turned away heading off down the hall, but 7 paused, leaning heavily on one crutch, he lifted the cushioning off the top of the other to see the small syringe still hidden within the pipe. 7 felt his lips twist in a smile of relief. 

The woman led him through a maze of hallways as 7 tried desperately to keep up. The world around him seemed to tilt with every step and his muscles were stiff and weak. But the thud of his crutches against the floor was familiar, almost comforting. When they reached a large door, the woman opened it leading 7 into what he assumed must be Payne’s office. 7 glanced around the room. 

“Where’s Payne?”

“In there,” the woman answered, pointing to a door behind Payne’s desk. 7 hobbled to the desk and sat down, looking up at the woman expectantly.

“The passcode is 42983310.” 7 entered it, and was shocked by the possibilities it offered. Payne clearly wanted to ensure that he could control every function of lab himself if he ever needed to. The level of detail was obsessive, every door could be locked, unlocked. Every camera could be accessed or shut off. Even the temperature of the individual rooms could be controlled. But that didn’t make sense. 7 blinked hard, screwing up his eyes against the light of the screen. There was too much. Light everywhere, and sound, the woman kept tapping her foot against the floor. Tap, tap, tap.

Why did Payne want to control the temperature? It made no sense. 7 looked more closely at the controls. They seemed basic at first, a range of about thirty degrees, but as 7 looked deeper into the system, he saw that there was a security wall. A condition that had to be met, to enable the system’s full capacity. And only one room met that condition, whatever it was. The room right behind him, where Payne was.

7 opened the controls for the individual room. The temperature range had increased, multiplied by one hundred. 7 stared at it for a minute, fighting through the chaos in his brain, before suddenly everything fell into place. The temperature could reach thousands of degrees, enough to reduce a human body to ash. No evidence.

7’s hands were shaking. Levitsky had told everyone to go to their sleeping quarters. All the evidence in one place. Then it was just one button. Payne just had one button to press and they would be nothing but ash. Now Payne was locked in the room and 7’s shaking hands were over the button. 

It would be easy. He was sure of it. No blood in the closet. No heavy surface cleaner in his hands. And then he would be safe. 7 would finally be safe. 

Why were his hands shaking? It wasn’t revenge, just security. He wouldn’t feel it. Wouldn’t hear the thud, thud, thud. It wasn’t sadistic. It was practical.

7 shuddered, his whole body recoiling. He closed the temperature controls and leaned back into his seat, closing his eyes tightly and pressing his palms to them. 

I’m not like them. Not like 933, like Payne.

But even as he said it to himself, 7 knew it was a lie. Knew he wouldn’t be alive if he didn’t think like them, act like them. Still 7 fought against the idea, his mind refusing to accept it as true.

I don’t want to be like them. I want to be good, good like 6.

The woman was talking to him angrily.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you understand we need to get out?” 7 lifted his hands from over his eyes, gripping the desk and groaning at the sudden light.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have drugged me so much.” The woman didn’t respond, but she was right. 7 had to get out, had to get to 6. He looked up at the screen to see an alert. Someone was attempting to contact them from the front door. Confused, 7 accepted the audio. 

“Open this door.” 7 tried to turn off his hearing, before quickly remembering his switchboard was disconnected. “Open the door Payne, or I’ll call in the police, and they won’t waste time.” Why was _his_ voice back? It was supposed to be gone. 7 made it go away. 

“Payne… isn’t available at the moment.” The woman responded. 7 frowned, confused, before it clicked. It was real. She could hear him too. Levitsky was really speaking. 

“I don’t care what he’s doing. I want this door open or I’ll call in the police. This time they aren’t taking any chances. They blow you off the map in seconds.” The audio cut off, and the woman turned to 7.

“Do you know how to open that door? Have you worked it out yet?” 7 only shook his head before directing his attention to the screen. Within a few minutes he had scoped out the security system. Payne’s personal code would immediately allow them to open the doors, but waking him would be a risk. The other option would be to get inside the system. 7 didn’t have his device, but he had a direct channel into the system, which would work just as well. The only difficulty was that Payne took less safety precautions than the police station. His main concerns were keeping his employees under control and within the facility not keeping them safe. It would be possible to break through, but difficult. 

“We have two options. Either you wake up Payne and get his personal override code, which gives us authority to control the exits, or you give me a few hours to work through the system. I can work myself into this system just like I did in the police station, but it would take time.”

“We don’t have time.”

“We can’t afford to risk waking Payne up.”

“I don’t like it either, but I’m telling you, we can’t wait. We’d be lucky to make it an hour without someone looking for Payne or questioning why you were taken out of confinement.” 

“Fine.” It was pointless to argue with her. She was undoubtedly more familiar with the base than him. 

“Stay here, I’ll get a stimulant for him.” 7 sat back in the chair, reaching for the crutches he had leaned propped up against the desk. He held them to his chest, his fingers wrapped tightly around the metal bars, and waited. 

Suddenly another alert from the entrance to the base sounded on Payne’s computer. 7 accepted the audio call. 

“What is taking you so long? Either you open this door, or I call the police. You have one minute to let me-”

“We need more time than that.” There was a long pause.

“7? What happened? How are you-.”

“I had help. The woman who you spoke with before, she charged my plaque. She drugged Payne and got me into his computer, but we have to wake him up to get access to the main doors.”

“So you are alright?”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t hurt you?”

“Why are you here?”

“I came to get you. Here you are in danger not only from Payne but from the police. If they found you, they would destroy this facility and everyone in it rather than risk letting Payne escape. So I found you first.”

“You were in prison.”

“I, too, had help. 946 came to visit me, and we came to a mutual understanding.” 7 didn’t respond. Didn’t know how to. 6 was still trying to find him. 6 broke the law to find him. 7 gripped his crutches even tighter. 

“Are you still there, 7?”

“Yes.”

“And you,” Levitsky’s voice had gone hoarse. “You are alright?” Levitsky had already asked him that. It was stupid. But somehow 7 could sense that there was more in his question. Something else. But 7 didn’t understand it, so he didn’t answer. 

The door to Payne’s office opened, and 7 stood up suddenly. Too suddenly. His head felt light, all the blood rushing down and leaving him dizzy and breathless. But it was only the woman. She crossed the room in seconds, and 7 could see something wild and desperate in her face. 

“We need to hurry. Another security officer tried to stop me. They’re beginning to suspect something.” 7 sat back down at the computer and opened the door behind Payne’s desk. The room inside was bare, nothing but Payne’s unconscious body lying on the floor. The woman knelt by his head and injected him with the stimulant, but it didn’t seem to work, at least not fully. Payne lifted his head groggily, but his eyes were half-closed, his movements slow and clumsy.

“I need your personal override code.” Payne only squinted, confused. The woman grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “Give me the code now!”

“8-3-32-35”

“You should sedate him again.” 7 stood hobbling to the doorway. The woman looked up at him with disdain.

“I don’t think he’s exactly a threat at the moment.”

“He could be faking.” The woman sighed in exasperation.

“We still need to make it to the door, and I’m running out of sedatives. If anyone tries to stop me, I’ll be powerless. I’m not going to waste my only weapons on someone who’s only barely conscious.” She walked out of the room, making it clear that 7 had no say in the decision. 7 was sure to lock Payne’s door before turning to the controls for the main entrance. With Payne’s code, it was simple, giving him immediate access to the locks. 

“Levitsky,” he spoke, turning on the audio feed from outside, “the door should be unlocked.” There was no response. “Levitsky? Are you there?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the woman snapped, crossing the room, “We need to go.” 7 heard a loud click behind him. 

A hand closed around 7’s throat, another around his arm, pulling him to his feet. 7 could feel something hard, metallic, pressed against his skull. Payne. Of course. Payne wouldn’t have let any room be locked unless he could override it. 

“Stay away from me, Drishti. In a split second, this gun could be pointed at you.” Payne began to edge his way across the room, dragging 7 with him. 7’s stomach plummeted. Payne was going to escape, he was going to take 7 with him. I can’t. Not again. 7 heard a sound, a broken croaking moan, escape form his mouth. He was too upset to be ashamed of it.

Payne’s hand tightened around his throat, pulling him backwards through doorway. 7 could hear him speaking, threatening Drishti, but 7 didn’t listen. He could just see his crutches, lying on the floor where they had fallen when Payne grabbed him. 

I’m sorry, 6. 

And it finally sunk in. What he had been dreading, avoiding, hiding from himself. The truth sunk in, and he couldn’t hide from it any more. 

It doesn’t end. I get dragged from one lab to another. Payne drugs me and uses me, until one day I’m not useful, and he kills me. Or the police find him and blow me up with him.

I’m never going to see 6 again.

Everything was loud, loud for a moment. Crashing, jolting, pinching, choking. Then quiet. 7’s ears rang with it. He gasped for breath, taking in huge gulps of air. The pressure, squeezing tight around his throat was gone. No metal against his head. And everything was falling, collapsing, until suddenly it stopped. There were arms wrapped around him, holding him firmly but gently. Slowly he could hear through the quiet. Could make out the low mutterings above him. But he didn’t understand them. They were strange, complex, like nothing he had ever heard, but he liked them. They spoke of a different world. A place he would never know or understand. But he wanted to. 

The arms lifted him up, up into the air. But 7 didn’t even look to see who was carrying him. 

“Crutches.”

“It is alright.” 7 knew the voice now, understood Levitsky’s words. “Rest, I will carry you.”

“I know. I can’t walk, but I need them.” The woman brought him his crutches and 7 held them. He was exhausted and the rest of his body was limp in Levitsky’s arms, but he kept his hands firm, grasping the crutches close to him. 

7 could feel the jolting of Levitsky’s hurried footfalls, could hear panicked voices calling out, could see the halls rush past in a blur. A heavy door was shut, and the loud voices were cut off. They were in a dark passage, lit only by a faint glow at the end of the tunnel. 

The woman was talking, but 7 didn’t listen, letting the sounds wash over him. He let his eyes close, darkness, falling into darkness. There was warmth all around him, and he sunk into it, letting the arms surround him, supporting him.

Too soon, the light was no longer distant. He could feel it creeping closer, seeping through his eyelids. He squeezed his eyes tightly as he felt Levitsky step out of the tunnel. But the cool wind against his face shocked him, jolted him to life and he opened his eyes. Light was everywhere. Pouring over the grass, the rocks, flowing over the hilltops. But it didn’t stop there. There were no more walls, ceilings. 7 opened his eyes wide, craning his neck to stare at the sky, gasping the fresh air. He had never seen the sky like this. Not just a bright rectangle surrounded by wall, a sliver of light shafting down between buildings. Now it was open, stretching out forever. Now the light was everywhere, and everywhere was infinite.


	34. Promise

“Captain, there’s a call for you, can I put it through to your personal communicator?”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know. She says it’s urgent, and that she needs to speak with you directly.”

“Put her through.” Pavia lifted her communicator. The woman’s voice was urgent, quick, and confident. 

“Payne is dead.”

“What? Who is this?”

“I’m Dr. Drishti Rajani. I was an employee of the Levitsky-Payne Laboratories.”

“Are you certain he’s dead? He’s deceived us before.”

“He was shot in the head. I watched it happen. So yes, I’m sure he’s dead.” Pavia could hear a touch of exasperation in her voice, though it was carefully hidden under her clipped, professional tone. “I called in with the news, because I needed to make sure you won’t blow me up as soon as I give you my location. He’s dead, you can relax.”

“Are you inside the lab?”

“No. I’m outside the entrance with Dr. Levitsky and experiment 947.” Pavia leaned on the nearest wall. 7 was out, he was alive.

“Give me a moment.” Pavia spoke into the nearest station-wide communicator, addressing the entire station. “This is Captain Pavia speaking. I have just received an eye-witness report confirming the death of Dr. Abraham Payne. This is an official statement declaring that Dr. Payne no longer poses an immediate threat to the safety of the public. In accordance with that statement, it is an act of treason and unwarranted violence to issue any attack on the location soon to be specified. We will be neutralizing the facility using an on-site team of officers. If you have received any orders that would contradict this, notify me immediately, or you will be charged with full responsibility for your actions.” Pavia waited. No one called in. Either Prideaux had been bluffing, or no one was willing to risk facing the legal consequences of disobeying her direct orders. Pavia spoke to Dr. Rajani on her personal communicator. “Give me your coordinates, I’ve issued a direct order to prevent anyone from firing on you.”

Pavia passed on the location to her most trusted officers, dispatching a team of ground vehicles and hover-cruisers to the site and boarding the command cruiser herself. As she made her way to the bridge, she considered sending the news to 6. The doctors had been trying every drug that might have even a possibility of helping, but the head of the department had admitted to her in a private call, that the tests served little more than to boost moral at this point. 6 was dying, dying fast, and the doctors were in over their heads. Still it was a risk to tell 6 the news. There was no way to be sure of his response. While it might give him hope, determination, it might also aggravate him, and the anxiety could worsen his condition. Plus, if anything went wrong, if 7 was injured, giving 6 hope would only worsen the pain. Pavia resolved to wait. 

She tried not to think of him as she took her seat on the bridge, tried not to remember his face, contorted in pain as she held him. Or worse, when he had looked up at her for a moment, eyes so full of forgiveness, infuriating kindness. _This is how I help him._ She reminded herself. _This is how I deserve him._

He loved her. He had said so himself, but 6 had made it clear to her what family was to him. Family was 7, and 6 measured everyone based on how they treated his family. Even Levitsky, who had caused 6 so much pain was redeemable, trustworthy, because he cared for 7. 6 didn’t trust her, but Pavia knew it was more than her orders. 6 had been watching her, he had seen her wariness, her distrust of 7. Her coldness toward 7 had pushed him away, Prideaux’s orders were just the last straw. 

But 6 had forgiven her. He wanted to love her, to trust her. Pavia only had to give him a reason. She had to bring his family back.

Pavia looked out at the arid valley spread out in front of the cruiser. A small town crouched close around the main road, with a few trails leading into the hills. On the ground below, cars trailed behind them, some circling on back routes to surround their target. As they drew nearer to the small hill that matches their given coordinates, Pavia caught sight of them. Two figures standing out in an open plain at the foot of the hill. One figure appeared to be holding something large.

“Get me a closer visual on those figures.” The cruiser’s viewer zoomed in, to reveal a woman in a lab coat, who she assumed must be Dr. Rajani, and Dr. Levitsky carrying 7. “Prepare team for ground assault. Do not fire. I repeat, do not fire,” Pavia ordered. She rose from her chair. “Camson, you are in control of this vessel, but you act on my orders alone, do you understand?” Officer Camson stood at attention.

“Yes, Captain.” 

“I will be commanding operations from the ground.” Pavia made her way towards the rear of the cruiser, entering the deployment sector, where the team of officers she had ordered were already waiting for her. As their compartment was lowered from the hover-cruiser, Pavia addressed them, turning on the microphone on her uniform so all the officers could hear. Normally, she wouldn’t feel the need to give her officers a speech; they were well trained and aware of their responsibilities. But the past weeks have been devastating to morale, and Pavia knew that many of the officers had lost loved ones in Payne’s cyber-attacks.

“I want you all to understand our goals here. Payne, the main threat to the safety of the public, is presumed dead. We aren’t here for revenge, we aren’t here to be heroes. I need to see professionalism. Any suspects are to be taken into custody, any evidence should be gathered with care. We’re after the truth here.” With a thud, the compartment landed on the ground, the walls lifting to reveal the dusty valley surrounding them. Quickly Pavia took in their position. She could see an old abandoned mineshaft, barely visible in the thick bushes at the foot of the nearest hill. Straight ahead was the clearing where Levitsky, 7 and Dr. Rajani were waiting. “Squads one and two, investigate the mineshaft due west of your position. Squads three, four, and five, spread out, cover the area, and look for any alternative exits. Squad 6, follow me.”

Pavia jogged across the dry grass toward the waiting figures, her officers following closely behind her. As she neared them, Pavia began to grow concerned. There was something different about 7’s face, though she couldn’t describe it. It couldn’t have been more different to the stolid, unreadable expression she’d grown accustomed to. Her officers surrounded Levitsky and Dr. Rajani, unsure of how to proceed. Pavia addressed Levitsky first. 

“Is 7 in any immediate medical danger?”

“Not that I am aware. He is merely too exhausted to stand.” Pavia frowned. 7’s stare was too unfocused, he wasn’t responding normally. 

“7.” She spoke loudly, trying to convey both authority and safety in her voice. “7, can you hear me.” 

“He’s a bit disoriented.” Dr. Rajani explained. “He’s been drugged, sedated, the sounds are probably just overwhelming him.” Pavia contacted the hover-cruiser.

“Bring down a stretcher. 947 will need to be transported on board.” Pavia could hear the sirens of police vehicles approaching from the road. “Dr. Rajani, Dr. Levitsky, do either of you have any information you can offer to assist us? Is there any danger of this lab collapsing like the others?” Dr. Rajani replied quickly. 

“It seems you’ve already found the entrance,” she said nodding towards the mine shaft. “As to the collapse, I think it’s unlikely. Payne probably made sure that he was the only one who could trigger an escape sequence. However, if you want to collect specific evidence you may have to hurry. As soon as the employees know the lab has been breached, they’ll start destroying evidence personally.” Pavia nodded in thanks and addressed squads one and two.

“You need to hurry, the employees will destroy their work to prevent us from finding it. Keep an eye out for a serum that might cure 6.”

“Understood, Captain. We can confirm the given report of Payne’s death. His body has been found, shot in the head.” 

“Dr. Rajani, you said you saw it happen. Do you know who shot him?” Dr. Rajani opened her mouth to respond, but Levitsky cut her off.

“I did.” Levitsky smiled slightly at the surprise of Pavia and her officers. “He had 7 by the throat with a weapon to his head,” Levitsky quickly lost all his lightness, his face hardening quickly into a steely gaze. “So yes, I killed him.” Levitsky's voice was deadly, as though challenging the officers to question him further, but as he looked down at 7, his cold expression melted. It was probably unprofessional to allow him to hold 7, especially after he admitted to committing a murder, but something in Levitsky’s face made her hold back. The man had broken out of jail, had killed his partner and friend, all to save 7. 

The police vehicles had pulled up around them, lights flashing. Dr. Rajani was escorted into one of the vehicles. Two officers with a stretcher pushed through the crowd. Levitsky’s face fell as he realized his time was up. 7 would be taken away, and he would be taken back to his cell. But as Pavia watched, he lowered his head, his lips touching 7’s forehead for a moment. The officers lifted 7 out of his arms and lay him down on the stretcher.

* * *

The blue lights were on again. Hadn’t he told them to turn them off already?

“Turn off the lights, you’ll hurt 6.” 

“6 isn’t here.” It was Pavia’s voice but it sounded oddly far away. 6. Have to save 6.

“Crutches. I need my crutches.”

“You’re on a stretcher, 7.”

“No I need them.” He felt the cold metal in his hands and fumbled with the cushioned top until he found it. 7 clutched the small cylinder in his hand.

“What is that, 7? Let me see.”

“No.” 7 kept his fingers clamped around it. “It’s for 6. I took it, stole it from Payne. It’ll cure him.”

“6 isn’t here. But I can have it sent to him.”

“You have to promise.”

“I promise, 7.” He slowly loosened his viselike hold on the syringe case and felt a gentle hand pull it out of his grip.


	35. Better

The pain lingered like a fog between 6 and the world. There were faces, distant above his bed and voices calling out as though from far away. 

"6, hold still, we need to give you an injection." Was that Pavia? It couldn't be Pavia. Why would she be here?

"Go away." 

"This will help." Whoever it was put their hand on his arm and their touch was fire. He pulled his arm away.

"Nothing works." Just let me die. That's the only way it will stop. “Please, leave.” 6 was drifting, the pain numbing his mind as his body burned.

"This will make it stop. 7's back. He brought this with him." 7. He's alive! 6's eyes swept around the room, searching desperately. The room was empty.

"What happened? Is he alright- I have to see him." 6 tripped over his words, still craning his neck to search the room, as though 7 would appear somehow, popping out from behind some unseen obstruction. 

"You’ll see him soon.” The voice told him placatingly. “First, you need to hold still so I can give you this." And 6 did hold still, because if it came from 7, he knew it was good.

* * *

7 wasn’t sure how long they kept him in the cold, white rooms. There was too much light, too many voices, and no one answered when he spoke to them. They scanned his body, his brain, pressing instruments into him, and injecting him with needles. 7 forced himself to stay calm and quiet. Maybe it would help them to trust him and he could see 6. But when they tried to keep him in place with a strap across his torso, he couldn’t stand it. 

“No, no.” He muttered. “Stop it. Stop it now.” But they didn’t stop. So he thrashed out, pulling his arms out of their grips. In his desperation to escape, he threw himself off-balance and slid off the examination table, his legs useless to catch his fall. The shocked nurses reached down to help him up, but 7 shrunk away. He pulled himself across the floor using his arms, getting as far away from them as he could. When he hit a wall, he stopped and curled up, wrapping his arms around his head. 

The nurses were arguing. Some of them wanted to knock him out and examine him, others wanted to wait and see what would happen. In the end, they did neither. Instead the questions started.

“Were you responsible for the attack on the police station?”

7 didn’t respond. If I tell them I was, they’ll lock me up. If I lie, someone will testify against me and they won’t trust me.

“We need to get a statement from you. What about the attacks on the hospital, the power plant?” 7 shook his head.

“Don’t know about those.”

“You’re saying you had no knowledge of these attacks?”

“Yes.”

“But you knew about the attack on the police station?” 7 tightened his arms around his head. 

“Can I see 6?” His voice was pitiful, barely recognizable, but he didn’t care.

“We can’t do anything to help you until you answer our questions.”  
“I just want to see 6.”

“What do you know about the attack on the police station? Do you know why the attack was carried out?”

“Why can’t I see 6?”

“These questions are very important.”

“You can ask me afterward.” 7 peered out at the group of doctors and officers staring at him from across the room. No one answered him. A strange uneasiness gnawed at his stomach. He tried to turn it off, but his switchboard didn’t respond. “Is 6 better?” The doctors hesitated again, looking to one another, uncertain of what to do. 7 felt sick. If 6 was alright, why wouldn’t they just tell him so? “Is he better? Did it work, did the serum work?” Panic was creeping into his voice. The doctors only glanced anxiously at one another.

“We aren’t cleared to give you any information on-” The officer was cut off by the sound of yelling in the distance growing louder and closer until the door behind 7 flew open. The room was full of people. The sounds were overwhelming, but 7 forced himself to keep them on. He had to know.

Pavia was close. Was speaking to him, but he hadn’t heard her.

“I was too late, wasn’t I?”

“What?” Pavia leaned in close to him. 

“They won’t tell me if 6 is better, and it's because I was too late and he…” 7 couldn’t finish. If he did it would be real, and it couldn’t be real. No. Pavia’s arm was by him, touching him, and he clung to it desperately. “No, no, no, no, no, no-”

“Listen to me, 7.” Pavia lifted him into a sitting position. Her face was right in front of his. “6 is fine. He’s alive and cured.” She looked him straight in the eye so he could see it wasn’t a lie. Relief washed over him so quickly that 7’s head felt light. He swayed slightly and Pavia held him by the shoulders. When she spoke again, addressing the nurses, all the gentleness had left her tone. “Have any of 7’s tests shown any drug, any implant, anything that could lead to any sort of uncharacteristic violence or dangerous outburst?”

“No, Captain.”

“Then I fail to understand why 7 has not been allowed to visit 6, whose life he has just saved. Clearly he would be far more cooperative if he were allowed to rest both mentally and physically. I will continue taking his statement tomorrow. Until then he needs to recover. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Captain.” Pavia helped 7 to his feet, calling to a doctor for crutches. She led him through the halls with a hand on his back. With every step, his heart pounded faster, ignoring his attempts to regulate it. Just when 7 thought he wouldn’t be able to bear another moment, another step, he was there. A glass window was the only thing between him and 6. 7 stood frozen barely able to believe it. 

I’m home.

But that was wrong. Homes were supposed to be places. Still, the gentle rush of 6’s sleep-slowed breathing made everything seem simple. He sounds like _home_. 

Pavia held the door open for him and the space between him and 6's bed flew by underneath his long strides, as he launched himself across the room. Quickly 7 scanned 6's body. He was too tense, too rigid. He remembered the ice spreading through him when Payne cured him, and quickly sent the nurses out for more blankets. 6 would not be cold. And he wouldn't be lonely either, not like 7 was. 

7 took 6's hand. It was colder now, but that was alright, because 7 was warm, and his grip solid, sure. The nurses returned with a thick, heated blanket and placed it over 6. 7 tucked it around him. He jumped slightly when he felt a nurse's hand on his shoulder.

"He won't wake up for several hours. You should get some rest."

"I'm not tired." It was a lie. He was exhausted, and more relaxed and ready to sleep than he had been in weeks.

"There's a room all ready for you." The nurse smiled a bit too condescendingly. But he meant well; 7 knew that. "I promise I'll wake you up as soon as he's up." 7 simply shook his head. Nothing the nurse could say would tempt him to leave. He clung to 6's hand. The nurse seemed to understand. "Well, you can always change your mind. Just let me know." He left the room, closing the door behind him.

7 took a deep breath. The room was alright. The colors were duller, the smooth sheets didn't scrape him and the sounds were muffled through the door. He wanted his switchboard back completely, but for now it would be alright. Suddenly he felt himself falling. He jerked his head up. When had it drooped down? He shook himself, but paused. 6 wouldn't mind if he slept, would he? 6 would want me to rest. The bed was big, too big for someone 6's size, and 7 was small, so he stood up, momentarily letting go of 6's hand, and carefully sat on the bed, swinging his legs up onto the mattress. He found just enough room towards the foot of the bed, curled up on top of the blankets, with 6's hand held reverently by his cheek. 

* * *

The chill had not left 6's body when he woke. He was wrapped in a thick blanket, yet the only part of him that was warm was his hand. Held tightly in hands too small to belong to Pavia or anyone else who would make sense. 6 peered over the blanket tucked around his shoulders, to see the top of a small bald head. 7. 6 was bursting, barely able to believe it. And it didn't help that he had never seen 7 voluntarily touch anyone for a non-practical reason. _What did Payne do to him?_ But 6 couldn't hold his concern for long, because 7 was _here_. Unable to stop the smile that spread across his face, he squeezed 7's hand gently.

"Lights on, sleepy." Not really having expected a response, 6 was startled to see 7 turn his head to look at 6. 

"Hello." 7's voice was thick with something 6 had never heard. He beamed down at 7, not caring how strange he looked. 

"Come up here," he said cheerfully, patting the mattress next to him and pushing himself up into a sitting position. 7 dragged himself up to sit next to 6, taking the blanket that had been placed over him, and pulling it close around his shoulders. "You're cold?" 6 asked in confusion. 7 nodded.

"Payne drugged me, disconnected the switchboard. It’s wearing off, but I can't control everything yet."

"Hold on, when did he drug you? What happened?" 

"I was supposed to keep going up the stairs, but I went to his lab, and got the serum." Of course. 6 should have thought of it himself. 7 would have had to make sure he would live once he escaped. 

"Had the condition been triggered yet?" Something changed in 7's face.

"Yes. Payne had already cured me." 7 fixed him with a unmovable gaze, and 6 understood that his eyes were struggling to express what he could not say out loud. _I got it for you. I risked everything for you._ 6 found himself desperately fighting his own tears. 7 would be scared, he would be worried about me. But 7 wasn’t done. "Thank you." 6 stared at him, confused. "I know it was you, behind everything. You asked Levitsky to help, after everything he did to you.”

6 looked down at his lap, buried under a thick, heated blanket. He paused, biting his lip as though to stop himself but the question slipped out before he could stop it. “Can I be your brother?” 7 stared at him and 6 felt his face grow red. “I know it’s strange to ask. But when you were gone, I learned what family is, and you are family to me. A brother.” 7 opened his mouth to reply, but 6 continued. He needed to explain himself. “When I talked to Levitsky, I saw how much he was hurting. You’re family to him.” 7’s brow furrowed. “But he’s not family to you, and it hurt him a lot. So I wanted to make sure. I want to be a brother to you.” 7 didn’t speak for what felt like minutes, though it probably wasn’t. But 6 wasn’t worried. 7’s face held no hesitance or indecisiveness. He was just thinking. 7 was smart, but he didn’t know how to talk about feelings. That was alright. So 6 waited. Finally, 7 raised his head and spoke.

“You were already my brother.” Without his switchboard, 7’s face was confusing to watch, emotions passing over it in violent spasms, twitching uncontrollably. But 6 didn’t mind. The words were all that mattered really. “You were my brother when I told you my secret and you were part of me. You made me laugh. And I was happy. I had never been happy before.” 7 looked down, pausing for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was almost too quiet to hear. “I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too. But it’s better now.”

“Do you know what’s going to happen to us?”

“There’s still a big trial. People want to put us away in bad places, but we’re alive, and we’re together now. That’s better isn’t it?" 

7 nodded, but his face was twisted, distorted by some unrecognizable force, and 6 was frightened just long enough to be ashamed of it. Because he saw quickly that 7 was crying. I am just like them. How could I forget that he's just a person, how do I not know what his sadness looks like. Some friend. But then 7 isn't my friend. A friend is like an agreement. When spending time together is mutually beneficial, you spend time together, and when it isn't, you don't. Friendship has terms, agreements. Family doesn't. He could do anything, all sorts of terrible things and I would still love him, for no other reason than because he's 7.

6 closed his eyes for a moment. He was determined not to lose his composure, not to do anything too sudden or emotional and overwhelm 7. But as soon as he opened his eyes, as soon as he looked over to see 7 hurriedly wiping his eyes and turning his face so that 6 wouldn’t see him, his resolve melted. I can’t just watch. I can’t just let him think he should hide from me. So 6 embraced him, wrapping his arms around him as firmly as he dared. For a terrifying second, 7’s whole body was rigid, shocked at the sudden contact, but 6 was patient. After several seconds, 6 felt 7’s back relax, his arms loosen. And as 6 felt 7’s head fall onto his shoulder, felt 7’s tears soak the fabric of his shirt, he let his own tears fall at last.


	36. Free

Yvonne left work early. She knew it wouldn’t be long before the police decided to retrace Levitsky’s footsteps and she didn’t plan to be in the office when they came knocking on her door. She had no intention to outrun the law, of course. The charges against her could only amount to minimal punishment, since there was no documentation of most of her illegal dealings. She might face a few months in prison, some moderate fines, but nothing drastic. Still, Yvonne didn’t want to risk being taken into custody before she got a chance to come home, to speak to Kiersten. Kiersten was strong, with understanding beyond her years, but Yvonne would have to explain the circumstances to her and prepare her for the worst. She and Lars had prepared for years. When Kiersten was born, Yvonne had cut down on illegal dealings as much as she could while keeping the business afloat, but Lars was her backup, her insurance. She made him promise to stay out of anything that might even border on illegality, which wasn’t too difficult in the world of journalistic writing, so that if Yvonne’s past ever came back to bite her, Lars would be spotless, and Kiersten would never be alone.

As soon as Yvonne changed out of her formal clothes, she turned on the news, scrolling through channels hoping to catch coverage of Levitsky’s arrest. After about half an hour she gave up, leaving the living room to make a start on dinner. Lars was working late, and Kiersten would be hungry when she returned from school. But as Yvonne gathering ingredients, her attention was immediately drawn away by the sound of a reporter’s voice.

“We have just received a report from the Central Police Department. The escaped prisoner, Dr. Fyodor Levitsky has just been apprehended.” Yvonne hurried back to the living room, leaving her vegetables in sink. “The police received a call from Dr. Levitsky himself, informing them of his location. Within minutes, police vehicles and hovercraft arrived at his location finding Dr. Levitsky, experiment 947, and thirty-three employees of the facility. Dr. Payne, however, was found dead inside the facility.” Yvonne felt no sorrow at the news. Payne was a twisted bastard, and working for him had been her greatest regret. The news channel switched from the reporter’s face in the newsroom, to footage from one of the police vehicles. Yvonne watched as Fyodor stood outside of what appeared to be an abandoned mine, carrying 947 in his arms. She shook her head in amazement and dismay at the look on Fyodor’s face. His eyes never left 947 despite the swarms of police officers closing in on him, and he clutched at the boy with a tenderness so natural, she could hardly believe it. Was this the man who had thrown away children’s lives like they were lab rats? A reporter spoke over the footage.

“Now as we can see, 947 appears to be heavily drugged or tranquillized. The police department has informed us that he is alive and is currently receiving medical attention.” Yvonne directed her attention to 947. He lay semi-limply in Fyodor’s arms, his head lolling slightly, eyes wide, blinking against the sun. But his face was what caught her attention. It was nothing like the hard, expressionless mask she had seen in previous news footage. It was open, pain and wonder and fear smeared across it like finger paint. It was the face of a child, a child just brought into the world. 

The footage cut off, replaced by a group of presenters seated around a table. 

“Now, it just so happens that we had lined up an interview with Mr. Fuentes, a member of the planetary council who has been carefully following the case of experiment 946 and 947.” The camera panned out to show a thin man in a carefully tailored suit at the other end of the table. “So, in light of this latest development, we’re all very interested to hear your perspective on 947’s case in particular.”

“Of course.” The man shot the reporter a winning smile. “I think the first thing we need to understand about experiment 947 is that this is not a human we are dealing with, at least not by the standards by which we judge humanity. I’ve consulted with the leading geneticists and psychoanalysts on the planet, and I can definitively conclude that if you look at the alterations to his genes in combination with the bizarre behavior he has exhibited, he has clearly crossed the line between human and animal.”

“What would you say to those who claim that his behavior could be the result of emotional trauma or even mental illness.”

“I would say that I’d like to see their research.” Mr. Fuentes gave a casual chuckle. “But let’s not forget that even if we disregard the serious genetic alterations made to him, there’s another factor to consider.”

“You’re saying you have additional evidence against 947?”

“My sources have spoken with the police who reported that Dr. Levitsky claimed that 947 was created using his own genes as a base. The forensic lab conducted a DNA test and found that, except for the alterations made to enhance 947’s intelligence, the two were genetically identical.”

“What, do you think, are the implications of this new data?”

“Well, they’re not as damning as one might assume. After all, personality has been proven to a product of both genetics and upbringing, but the potential will always be there. Dr. Levitsky is responsible for the death of hundreds, the cold-blooded murder of children, and we have to assume that 947 has the potential to fall into whatever psychosis caused Levitsky to become the monster that he is. I’m not saying 947 is a murderer, only that he could become one, and what we have to ask ourselves is, ‘are we willing to take that risk?’”

“So, what advice would you give to the people who will be on the jury for the upcoming trial. How do you think they should approach this case?”

“Look, at the end of the day, the only question that really matters is what do we do with him, and no matter what you choose to believe, it’s clear that 947 needs to be put away. Allowing him to roam free, to go to school with regular children and live amongst people, would be a huge risk, and for what? All 947 has ever known is life in a lab, letting him out into society would be like releasing a animal bred in captivity into the wild. He doesn’t belong here.”

Yvonne muted the channel. She couldn’t listen to another word from that man’s mouth. She watched as they showed clips of 947, having a meltdown in a prison, speaking in court, his face its characteristic blank mask, but after seeing the recent footage of his rescue from Payne, Yvonne no longer believed it. There was a child underneath that mask. And as she watched, Yvonne began to notice the strategic editing of the clips. She had followed the case closely watched full coverage of the trial, and it was clear what message the news program was trying to convey. They showed only the most disturbing moments: his hard, empty looks, his expressionless voice, but Yvonne knew better. She had seen the full clips, had noticed what the program was trying to cover up: the rare but reoccurring facial tick that would momentarily break through his mask, the brief worried glances at 946 in court. _If only they knew._ She thought. _If only I could make them see what they don’t want to see_.

“I’m like them, aren’t I.” Yvonne looked around the room, startled, to find Kiersten standing behind the couch.

“You’re home early. I thought you wouldn’t be done until five.”

“We finished early.” Yvonne fixed her with a stern look. “Ok. I finished early.”

“We’ve talked about this, Kiersten.”

“I couldn’t just sit there. The test was easy and they gave us three hours. What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to sit and wait and check your work like always.”

“Can we at least be honest with each other?” Kiersten folded her arms stubbornly. “You’ve been following this case in the news for weeks.” She nodded towards the screen, still playing footage of 947. “You never watch the news. So I’d appreciate it if you dropped your story about paying the doctors for some minor enhancements. I’m from a lab, an illegal lab, like 946 and 947.” Yvonne sighed in resignation. Once Kiersten got an idea in her head, there was no way of stopping her.

“Yes.” Kiersten smiled smugly. “But I hope now you’ll understand why you need to keep a low profile at school. If you’ve been following this case, then you know the danger that they are facing.” Kiersten sat next to Yvonne on the couch.

“But that’s not fair, mom.”

“Life isn’t fair. It’s just a couple of hours.”

“I’m not talking about my test. I mean it’s not fair to them. They’re just like me, but they don’t get to hide or pretend. I know you think people would scared if they knew where I came from, but now there’s 946 and 947. Everyone knows who they are and where they came from. If they go free, the world will have to learn not to be afraid.” Yvonne looked at her daughter’s face, so full of hope, of promise.

“The world isn’t very good at that.”

“But just think.” Kiersten’s eyes were wide. “If we could make them see that it’s alright, make them let 946 and 947 go, then I wouldn’t have to hide any more. I could go to real college.” 

“I want you to go to college, but we agreed you aren’t going to apply for another three years. Until then you can take as many online courses as you want.”

“I don’t want to take online courses. I want to talk to real people and I want people to know that its me talking to them. This isn’t sustainable, mom. This hiding and lying and waiting. Do you think I can keep doing this for the rest of my life?” Yvonne wanted to argue, wanted to repeat the same mantra she’d been saying for twelve years. It’s not safe, it’s not worth your life. But Kiersten was right; it wasn’t just about waiting through a test or taking online courses. If Kiersten could prove to the jury that she, 6 and 7 could fit into the world, she wouldn’t just be helping herself, she would be saving lives, opening minds. And Yvonne couldn’t argue with that.

* * *

Mr. Brooks blinked against the brightness of his monitor. After the triumphant rescue of 7, and healing of 6, he had returned to the case with renewed vigor. Now the boys’ lives were no longer distant improbable futures, they were crystal clear and just out of reach. As always, there would be difficulties, setbacks, but they were too close to fail now. Mr. Brooks could not allow it. His console beeped, signaling an incoming call. 

“Accept call.” There was no face on his monitor, nothing but a garbled voice.

“It has come to our attention that your personal documentation has been incorrectly formatted.”

“What?”

“At the inception of your career, you submitted certain documents that were later found to be incomplete.” Mr. Brooks’s heart was pounding. He still remembered it clearly. The paralyzing fear when he had first looked back and realized the formatting errors on his genetic readouts, but no one had ever approached him about it, no one had noticed. And it was years- decades ago.

“You must be mistaken. I’ve been in the system for years.”

“The problem was quickly corrected, the documents altered. Curious that genetic documentation would need to be refiled.”

“I’m sure it was only a clerical error then.” Mr. Brooks forced himself to keep his voice calm. For all he knew, it was nothing, just a misunderstanding. “I hope it hasn’t caused any complications.”

“Somehow, it hasn’t. But it would be unprofessional to allow such a careless mistake be known to the public, don’t you agree, Mr. Brooks?” Mr. Brooks swallowed hard, his stomach plummeting. There was no mistaking the voice’s meaning, now. They knew about him, understood the implications of his shoddy paperwork.

“Of course.” His voice was quavering now, despite his best efforts to steady it. “How do you suggest I keep my _mistake_ out of the public eye?”

“There are very few who are aware of it. If you would like it to stay that way, we suggest that you disentangle yourself from a certain legal case you are currently supporting.”

“You’re referring to the trial of experiments 946 and 947?”

“As the author of the GenetiBan, you have a duty to ensure the law is carried out to the proper extent, to serve justice. We believe that your current stance would undermine your position, and by extension, diminish the power and authority of the very law you dedicated your career to creating.”

“But the circumstances are unprecedented, I don’t believe-”

“Perhaps I should be more obtuse. If you want to maintain the confidentiality of your genetic makeup, you must publicly denounce your current standpoint and declare your support for the prosecution. You will not appear in court. You will cease correspondence with the witnesses and lawyers for the defense.” Mr. Brooks said nothing, sitting frozen by indecision. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” It was barely audible, but the caller seemed to hear. The call ended abruptly. Mr. Brooks raised a shaking hand to his head. There was no way around it. He should call Pavia, explain his situation. Perhaps he could find her a replacement. But Mr. Brooks blanched at the prospect of facing her. She would despise him, would be repulsed by him for turning his back on her, on 6 and 7. She wouldn't understand. Pavia, who was so young, still with so much to do, so much to become. Mr. Brooks jumped when he heard his monitor signal another incoming call. 

“Accept.” Mr. Brooks was relieved when the visual monitor blinked on, but was sighed inwardly when the face that appeared on it was not one he recognized. He couldn’t listen to some petition or money-grabbing business offer, not now. But before he could make a hurried excuse, the woman on his screen spoke.

“Mr. Brooks. My name is Dr. Yvonne Eriksen.” Mr. Brooks sat up straight. He had heard that name.

“You’re the head engineer of the security company Levitsky visited after escaping from prison.”

“Yes. But I didn’t call about that. I think I may be able to aid the case in defense of 946 and 947.” Mr. Brooks felt sick. How was he to explain the situation to her?

“I think you would be better off speaking with Sophia Liang.”

“Look, I know you’re busy, but please hear me out. I have some crucial evidence to the case, but I need you to promise me that this conversation will be confidential.” Mr. Brooks sighed.

“You have my word.” Dr. Eriksen nodded in gratitude. 

“Back when the GenetiBan was first implemented, my husband and I had been trying to conceive a child. I had had several miscarriages, and was open to finding other methods of conception, but at that time, it was illegal to use any form of non-natural fertilization or development. I had been employed by Dr. Payne several years earlier to create a security system for his laboratory, and through my work with the lab, I developed a friendship with Dr. Levitsky. So when my husband and I had lost hope, I turned to Fyodor for help. My daughter Kiersten was designed with the same extraordinary intelligence and 946 and 947. She is now twelve years old.” 

“What was it that made you come forward with this after twelve years?”

“I’ve been following the news coverage of 946 and 947. People have been saying they will disrupt society, or that they will never fit in to the world. I know this to be false.”

“Dr. Eriksen,” Mr. Brooks folded his hands on the table in front of him. “First of all, I want to thank you for offering your help. You’re correct in thinking that this could benefit 6 and 7. In a case like this, where nearly everything argument is speculation, having concrete evidence like this can be key, but I need to ensure that you understand that if you agree to let us use your daughter as evidence, you would be putting your family at risk. As a product of genetic experimentation, your daughter might end up facing the same charges as 946 and 947.”

“Then I hope you will do your best to ensure that they are cleared of their charges.”

“This is serious. If the trial goes badly, she could be institutionalized, locked up for all her life.”

“I’m aware of the consequences, Mr. Brooks, but my daughter understands, she suggested it in the first place. She’s only twelve, but already I can see how difficult it is to live the way she does. She has lived a lie all her life. Do you know how exhausting that is? Constantly hiding, worrying that she’ll show too much of herself.” Dr. Eriksen looked him straight in the eyes. “She has so much potential, Mr. Brooks. So much to share with this world.” Her gaze bore into him, and Mr. Brooks felt naked, exposed. His hesitance, his selfishness, they shamed him in her eyes. “I want my daughter to be free, Mr. Brooks.” Mr. Brooks could only nod. He gave Dr. Eriksen his personal contact information telling her to call back in the morning. Finally, he ended the call, turning off the monitor.

Mr. Brooks held his face in his hands. _So this is how I end. Mr. Brooks the respected political visionary, the champion of the downtrodden._ He had always known it, somehow. When he first heard Miranda Harrison’s voice delivering the news of the lab’s discovery, he had felt it beginning. He had thought his world was collapsing then. He had thought it was the beginning of the end, but Mr. Brooks knew better now. Thirty years of hiding, lying. His world was always collapsing. Wearing away like a battered cliff as deception ate at him.

But Yvonne’s words nagged at his brain. _Free. I want my daughter to be free._ It was a terrifying idea, but even as his mind shrunk back in fear, his soul cried out in longing, escaping from his mouth in a desperate whisper.

“I want it too. I want to be free.”


	37. Strangers

Liang took a deep breath as she entered the hospital ward. She had successfully convinced Pavia to get a few hours of sleep before interviewing 6 and 7, but had been unable to follow her own good advice. The press had taken the new developments in stride, and had quickly released a particularly vicious and fear-mongering segment on 947. Liang had her own reservations about the boy, but the coverage was so hostile, that she couldn’t help but feel defensive of him. She had spent the night giving her own statement to any news outlet that would listen. Even if people didn’t take the boys’ side completely, she needed to at least prevent the sort of fear and panic that the media were clearly trying to cause. 

It made sense, to a certain extent at least, to demonize or dehumanize the boys. It would create excitement and could attract more viewers. But what puzzled Liang was the fact that so few media companies seemed willing to present a case for the opposing side. Weren't drama and controversy just as attention grabbing as a powerful but one-sided argument?

When Liang reached the door to 946’s room, Pavia was waiting for her, looking more refreshed and composed than she had in weeks. Grace leaned in to land a brief kiss on her lips, which surprised Liang. Grace usually refrained from any displays of affection while on duty. Then again, this had long ago become much more than another case. 

“Is there anything I should know about their mental states before I talk to them?” Liang asked. Grace frowned a bit in concentration.

“We know that 7’s been drugged, and he’s no doubt had some traumatizing experiences. He’s very…different. But the only trouble we’ve had with him was when he wasn’t allowed to see 6. Now that he has, it shouldn’t be an issue.” Despite her clear concern for 7, there was no real tension in Pavia’s voice. Grace had always had a charmingly straightforward outlook on her profession. She saved lives, protected the innocent, and that was the end of it. Pavia’s concern now was purely personal, her job was done. Liang couldn’t afford to think that way. It was her job to clean up the messy aftermath, to tie up the loose ends, to ruin the happy endings. But her resolve wavered slightly when she entered the room.

6 and 7 sat together on 6’s bed, leaning back against the headboard, arms wrapped around each other. They looked up as they heard the door open, and Liang could see clearly that they had been crying. As she and Pavia approached the bed, 6’s puffy eyes met hers.

“You’re not going to make 7 leave, right?” 

“No. We just need to get a statement from him.” Both 6 and 7 were visibly relieved, and they disentangled themselves a bit so that they could face Pavia and Liang more comfortably. Pavia pulled an extra chair to the bed, and she and Liang both sat.

“So, 7,” Pavia began. “We are going to need you to tell us everything that happened.” 7’s face contorted into a strange expression.

“Even the bad things?”

“Yes, 7, we need you to be completely honest.”

“What if you don’t like what I say? What if they use it against me in court?” 

“There are a lot of witnesses,” Liang jumped in, hoping logic would win him over. “If you lie, they’ll all just testify against you. Then, not only will they learn the truth anyway, you will look even more dangerous and untrustworthy.” Pavia shot her a quick look of admonishment, and Liang quickly realized her error. 7 didn’t know how the world already saw him, didn’t know that he was already seen as dangerous and untrustworthy. But 7 didn’t seem to notice. Instead he sat in thoughtful silence for a moment.

“Alright. I’ll tell you.”

“Good.” Pavia spoke as gently and encouragingly as she could. “Why don’t you start from the beginning. Tell us what happened after you were taken by Payne.” 7 nodded.  
7 spoke carefully, choosing his words with precision as he described Payne’s manipulation, how he had used 7’s preexisting distrust of the police against him. But that wasn’t all. 7 hesitated, looking to 6 before he continued.

“And I had to keep the voices out. I knew if I had enough in my head they would go away.” Pavia was visibly shaken. Even Liang couldn’t hold back her confusion. Only 6 seemed calm, his eyes locked steadily on 7’s face.

“Voices?” Liang repeated. 7 nodded. But paused, seeming to sense the general alarm in the room. When he spoke his voice was uncharacteristically meek.

“You told me to say everything.”

“Of course.” Pavia recovered quickly, keeping her voice as even as possible. “Can you tell us more about the voices? Who were they?”

“Levitsky. I would remember the things he said, and I didn’t like them. But whenever I was alone, when there was nothing but my mind, he would be there. And there were other things...” 7 trailed off, and Liang could see that he was struggling to explain himself, to put his thoughts into words.

“I see.” She said carefully. “What happened after the attack?”

“I decided to tap into Payne’s own office, and I heard him talking about me. He called me “it” and implied that he had triggered my condition so that he could cure me and earn my trust. So I contacted 6.” 7 paused, and when he spoke again, his words were addressed more to 6 than Pavia and Liang. “The plan worked. But as I climbed the stairs, I saw Payne’s lab. I went in and found the same serum he had given me, but I wasn’t fast enough.” Liang frowned to herself. 7 hadn’t said it, but Liang could connect the dots. He had gotten the serum to save 6’s life. “I could hear them coming so I hid the syringe in my crutches. Then they drugged me.”

“Was that what made you scream?” Liang asked. 7 paused confusion flitting across his face.

“I was screaming?”

“Yes.” 6 spoke softly, his calm demeanor shaken by the memory.

“What made you scream? What did the drug do?” 7 didn’t answer, instead turning to 6, as though asking for his approval. 

“Everything, remember?” 6 told him. 

“I was altered in more ways than 6. I can consciously control all the functions of my body that would normally happen automatically. My heart rate, my breathing, all the nerve impulses that enter my brain. I can turn off or adjust my senses. I call it my switchboard.” Liang gave an inward sigh of relief. One of the primary concerns about 7 had been his unknown abilities, but this _switchboard_ would be easy to defend. It was strange yes, but it posed no significant threat to those around him. 7 took a deep breath before continuing. “The drug they gave me disconnected the switchboard.” 7 hesitated again, his face constantly shifting. “It was overwhelming. All of the sounds and lights and feelings. It hurt.” Liang saw 6 squeeze 7’s hand reassuringly. “They strapped me to a bed. I don’t know how long. I couldn’t move.” 7’s voice was breaking, growing softer and more unpredictable. “I- I w-wanted to die.” Tears were streaming down 6’s cheeks, but he didn’t make a sound, determined to be strong for 7. Liang opened her mouth, searching for some words of comfort, but found her own throat was thick with…something. She looked down at the files in her lap, clearing her throat.

“We’re almost done, 7. But, for the sake of the case, we need to hear everything that happened. It’ll be easier if you say it all now.” 7 nodded in agreement, his face was as unnerving as ever, but Liang was beginning to grow accustomed to it already, was starting to catch the flashes of fear and distress that passed over it. But when he spoke again, his voice had leveled.

7 described his escape, how the woman had helped him. How they had woken Payne to get his code, only for Payne to wake up and grab 7 by the throat, intending to drag him away. After that, however, 7’s recollection was confused, whether by drugs or pure exhaustion and shock, Liang wasn’t sure. 

“Was Payne caught?” 6 interjected, worry clouding his features. 

“He was killed,” Pavia explained, “the loud sound 7 heard was Levitsky shooting him in the head.” 7’s eyes widened in understanding, but he didn’t seem surprised, merely thoughtful. Liang waited for 7 to speak again, but he didn’t. 

“Is that it?” she asked.

“Levitsky carried me out. You know the rest.” Liang nodded. 

“There’s one last thing we need to discuss, before we leave you in peace.” Liang opened the file on her lap. “We need to establish our goals in the upcoming court case. We need to know exactly what we are arguing for. I’ve brought a file with me, with a few group homes that might be a good fit, but we’re aiming for an adoption. Do either of you have a preference as to your living situation?” The boys were both silent, and Liang was about to rephrase her question, when 7 spoke suddenly. 

“We want to be together.” Liang sighed. It wasn’t surprising, given their clear attachment to each other, but it would lessen the chances of finding a suitable family. Few parents were looking to adopt one genetic experiment, let alone two. But 6 and 7 weren’t finished. 

“Do we have to be adopted?” 6 asked, cautiously. “I don’t want to live with strangers. They won’t be family.”

“Not at first, no,” Liang began. “But after a while, you’ll get used to it, you’ll learn to love them.” It was the best she could think of, but the words sounded hollow, even to Liang herself. Not that they weren’t true, many couples adopted children, brought them successfully into their families. But Liang knew that this case was different. They had nothing, not even a theoretical understanding of what it meant to have parents. All they had were the relationships they’d built themselves. 

The solution felt both obvious and bizarre. It made sense to build off their preexisting attachments, to ease them into normalcy. It might even help the court case, since the prosecution might be placated by the knowledge that the boys would be in the capable hands of a police captain and a lawyer. But for Pavia and Liang, it would change their lives irrevocably. 

Pavia was looking at her, seeming to sense her uncertainty. Liang answered with a quick ‘we’ll talk later’ look and returned her attention to the boys. 6’s brow was furrowed, watching her thoughtfully, while 7 looked to 6, seemingly unsure of what was happening. Liang hurriedly made her goodbyes, telling 6 and 7 that she or Pavia would be back in a few hours to let them know how things were going. Once she and Grace were in the hallway and out of earshot, she sat down on one of the chairs in the waiting area, motioning for Grace to sit next to her. Grace wasted no time.

“We always meant to adopt.” Grace began gently. 

“I know.”

“We always said we wanted to make a difference. Take in the troubled children, children that no one wanted.” Liang nodded. 

“I just,” Liang paused choosing her words carefully. “I don’t want to rush into something like this. It feels like the obvious choice, but it’s so…sudden.” Grace lowered her gaze thoughtfully.

“I suppose it is. We’ve only known them a few weeks. But,” Grace trailed off for a moment. “The thing is, when I look back, I can’t imagine things turning out any other way. I don’t know what I thought would happen, but I knew this wasn’t just another case. I’ve known that for a long time.” Grace furrowed her brow, staring pensively at the opposite wall. “It always felt inevitable to me. But, this isn’t something I can do alone.” Grace raised her gaze to meet Liang’s “I know you still have…reservations.” Liang sighed. 

“I do. I always will. And I stand by what I said before. They can’t just go home with a nice family and lead normal lives. No family that they’re a part of could ever be normal. But I think we are the best option for them.”


	38. The right decision

Time passed easily with 6. After Pavia and Liang left, he seemed to understand that 7 didn’t want to talk about Payne anymore, so 6 talked instead. He told 7 everything he had learned about the world, about its laws and government, about Mr. Brooks and the GenetiBan. 7 listened quietly, taking care to remember it all in case it would be useful. Liang had told him to be honest in his statement, and she was right to. But 7 had also seen how disturbed she and Pavia had been when he followed their instructions. In court, he would have to be more careful, would have to know how to tell the truth so the jurors wouldn't react badly.

“You awake, 7?” 6 asked nudging him with his elbow. 7 nodded, opening his eyes.

“I was just resting my eyes.” 6 laughed, and 7’s lips twitched slightly in response.

“Sure,” 6 scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Really. The light hurts.” 6’s smile dropped.

“Oh.” He paused. “Do you know when this drug will wear off?” 7 shook his head.

“Just keep talking.” 6 still looked worried. “I’m alright, really.” 

“Okay.” 6 smiled mischievously. “But only if you can tell me the last thing I said,” he challenged. 

“The GenetiBan completely changed how the world approached genetics.” 7 spoke easily, quoting 6’s words from a few minutes before. “One day genetics might be all a person needed to get a job, the next day, it was illegal to even mention your genetic history to an employer.” A grin spread across 6’s face as 7 recited his own words to him.

“Alright, I get it. You really were just resting your eyes.” 

“Before you tell me the rest, I need to use the bathroom.” 6 nodded, reaching for 7’s crutches which leaned against the bed, and handing them to him. 7 didn’t comment when 6 quietly followed him out of room and into the ward. When 6 was waiting outside the bathroom door when he came out. Those were just the sort of things that 6 did. 

When they returned to 6’s room, resuming their seats side-by-side on the bed, 6 was quieter. He sat propped against the headboard, staring off into nothing. 7 watched him carefully. He didn't seem sad. But he wasn’t happy either. 6 seemed to notice 7’s concern and turned to look at him.

“It’s ok 7. I’m just thinking.” 6 smiled warmly and 7 nodded. He wanted to ask what he was thinking about, but wasn’t sure if 6 would even know. “Looks like you could use some more sleep.” 7 frowned. He wasn’t tired again. Was he? 6 chuckled at his confusion. “Your eyes are practically closed.” 6 reached for one of the blankets at the foot of the bed and handed it to 7. 

7 pulled the blanket around himself, leaning back against the pillows, and quickly realized that 6 was right. He had only been awake for a few hours, but his body seemed not to realize. It was far too comfortable. The warm, soft bed, the soothing regularity of 6’s breathing. 7’s eyes slid closed again, and his mind drifted off.

He woke to 6 gently shaking his shoulder. Pavia and Liang were back. 7 listened placidly as they made their proposition. Offered them their home, their love. 7 watched 6 carefully, gauging his reaction, but it was hard to tell. He seemed happy, but there was something in the way. Something that made him hold back his smiles.

Pavia offered them time to reflect. They needed to decide soon, she said, but it was an important decision. 6 looked turned to 7.

“7, do you want to talk?” 7 shook his head without hesitation. There was no way to know whether it was the best option. But it didn’t matter. 7 was alive. He had 6. As long as that didn’t change, nothing mattered. 

7 watched as 6 accepted for the both of them. Pavia and Liang smiled, first at them, then at each other. But it was 6 that caught his attention. There was something different about his face. His eyes wide and welcoming. And 7 understood. 

It’s different for 6. He _wants_ to live with them, wants them to be his family.

And 7 found himself smiling too. He had made the right decision. Because 6 was happy. And that mattered.

* * *

“I would congratulate you, but I fear that would be over-hasty. Let’s delay our celebration until it’s official.” Mr. Brooks smiled. “That being said, I think you’ve made an admirable choice.” 

“I’m glad you think so.” Pavia responded, her voice even but sincere. “However, I’m sure you didn’t come all the way down to the station just to not congratulate me.”

“That’s correct.” Mr. Brooks lowered his voice slightly, leaning in. “What is the most secure area in this station. Pavia’s eyes narrowed in concern, but she calmly replied. 

“Follow me.” After a few minutes walking through the investigatory sector, they arrived at a door. Pavia placed her palm on the sensor and it slid open. Brooks followed her inside, where he found a small table surrounded by a few chairs. The walls were lined with consoles, containing multiple screens and control pads. 

“What is this place?” Pavia took a seat at the central table.

“This is the our cyber-secure technological base. If we ever have reason to suspect that the main computers are being tapped or corrupted, we can carry out essential tasks from here. The servers are completely separate from the main system. They’re also less powerful, but they’re covert. If someone is listening in on this station, it’s unlikely they would’ve also found their way into this system. Especially as we take care not to use it unless there’s an emergency.”

“I see.” Mr. Brooks took a seat across from Pavia.

“So, what was it you needed to tell me.” Mr. Brooks took a deep breath.

“Someone is blackmailing me. I received a call at my house, telling me that they had found out my genetic documents were forged. They told me if I continued to support 6 and 7’s case, I would be exposed.” Pavia’s expression was uncharacteristically wary. 

“Well,” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “You’ve already done so much for case, I couldn’t ask for-”

"I’m not leaving the case.” Mr. Brooks was surprised at the confidence in his voice. Pavia studied him with a mixture of confusion and hope.

“I thought you didn’t want the public to know.”

“I don’t.” He said with a sigh. “But I’m also tired of lying, of being afraid. And I’ve realized that this case matters. The fact that someone tried to blackmail me into dropping it only goes to show that this is bigger than me, it’s even bigger than 6 and 7. Someone is desperate to ensure that we fail, and I need to know who.” Pavia was silent for a second. 

“Well, I would put my top investigators on the case, but to be honest, I’ve lost a lot of confidence in my subordinates over the past weeks. When Prideaux gave orders to destroy Payne’s laboratory, he made it clear that the orders would be followed, whether I complied or not. I don’t know who I can rely on, or if some officers are reporting directly to Prideaux. It’s no secret that he supports the prosecution.” Pavia’s brow furrowed. “Earlier today, Sophia was telling me about the media coverage. She’s been keeping up with it, trying to combat it as best she can, but she said it was almost uncanny how hostile and sensationalistic all the coverage has been. And now this, a blackmailing.”

“Someone doesn’t want 6 and 7 running free.”

“Do you think the mayor is behind this?”

“I don’t know. There could be any number of people who might want 6 and 7 incarcerated. People are afraid of genetic modification.”

“But what average person would be able to sway the press, to look into your background?Nobody found your forged papers for decades. It can’t have been easy.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, and I’m no particular fan of Prideaux myself, but I’ve followed his career, his rise to power, and there’s no reason to suspect he would take such measures. He has a clean slate, he fights fair, and disagreeing with his political views isn’t enough grounds to accuse him of breaking the law.” 

“I’m not saying we arrest him now, I’m saying we should look into it.” Mr. Brooks could hear the growing edge to her tone. “I thought that was why you came here.”

“Yes.” Mr. Brooks took a deep breath, bracing himself against Pavia’s rising anger. “I just want you to be careful. I know you and the Mayor have butted heads a few times, but you can’t rush into this. Even if the mayor is behind this, you’ll have a difficult time proving it. He has lot of subordinates, a complicated web of power. It serves a purpose of course, divides the control, keeps Prideaux in check, but it also ensures that if you turn up anything even slightly suspicious, there are a dozen officials ready to take the fall for it before Prideaux himself.” His warning seemed to have placated Pavia.

“I see your point. My only concern is that, if Prideaux is behind this, I’m not sure who I can trust to carry out the investigation.”

“What about 6 and 7? No offense to your employees, but they’re undoubtably the most capable, and you can be sure they won’t be reporting to Prideaux.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right. But I’m concerned about getting them involved. I let 6 help with the search for 7, and he was brilliant, of course, but after he released Levitsky from prison, I can’t just let him come into the police station, and give him free reign on the computers. And 7 could seem just as dangerous, if not more so.”

“Look, I understand the seriousness of what I’m asking you to do, but would you consider letting them in…covertly. I know it’s a big risk, but if we could sort this out now, if we could figure out who’s behind the blackmailing, see if the media has been swayed, we could make a difference in the long run. We could clear up whatever corruption is at work here.”

“I’ll see what I can do. If 6 and 7 don’t want to get involved, I won’t make them, but if they want to help, I’ll do all I can to keep them out of trouble.” Pavia leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips. “And what about you, Mr. Brooks?”

“I’ll continue work on the case, same as always.”

“But what about the blackmailer. I understand you’re willing to let the truth be known, but imagine the scandal if it was exposed in some tabloid. The press would sensationalize it, just look at how they’ve treated 6 and 7.” Brooks had to admit that she had a point. And he would be useless to the case if his reputation was ruined. He needed to command respect, to seem confident, in control. His credentials would remain formidable, but people were impressionable, easily swayed from reason by their own feelings of betrayal or resentment. 

When Mr. Brooks returned to his office he sent a brief message to Miranda Harrison. She and her producers had been willing to accommodate him in the past. Mr. Brooks could only hope they would do so again. If the truth had to be known, Mr. Brooks would make it known on his own terms.


	39. Power

Drishti had to suppress the constant urge to smirk at the parade of officers that handed her off from one place to another. They escorted her into a vehicle with a weapon at her back. She rode separated from the officers by a thick sheet of bullet-proof glass. Upon arriving at the station, she found yet another tableau of armed officers, ready to welcome Drishti and the other captured suspects. She was quickly ushered into a room, where a panel of officers sat behind a long table, facing a small chair. 

Those with real power had no need to put on such a ridiculous show. Those with power acted. They did whatever needed to be done, killed whoever needed to be killed. Those around them knew they had power because they used it, not because they put on menacing displays. Payne was paranoid, but at least he understood how power worked, how control was maintained. Everyone knew he had power, but he didn’t cause needless panic by shoving it in their faces. These officers were the polar opposite. Underneath their show of muscle and intimidating official displays, they were nothing but a bureaucratic facade, tied down by the very laws they were meant to enforce. And Drishti meant to use those laws. 

As they sat her down to be questioned, Drishti knew she would have to think fast. She scanned the faces of the officers facing her. What would they want, what did they expect to hear? Drishti felt her heart quicken slightly, but she dismissed it. _I faced Payne. I faced real power and I was strong. This is nothing._

She reviewed the events in her head. All these officers knew was that she had helped 947 escape. Perhaps a compassionate angle then, remorse for her wrongdoings. But that wouldn’t be enough. Infringement of the GenetiBan would mean decades in prison, even though she wasn’t behind the creation of the lab itself. The only option was to claim she was an unwilling participant. No small lie, of course, but the law would be powerless to deny her words, the officers eager to find as much helplessness and exploitation as possible. 

Drishti sat down, keeping her eyes trained on the floor. She was unaccustomed to acting weak and knew if she met the officers’ gazes for too long, she might be unable to conceal her lack of trepidation. Drishti hunched her shoulders slightly abandoning her poised posture for an intimidated slouch. 

“Please state your name for the record.”

“Dr. Drishti Rajani.”

“Dr. Rajani, describe your association with Dr. Payne.” Drishti forced herself to hesitate before speaking. She started with the truth; the less she lied, the more credible her story would seem when compared with other accounts.

“We met about five years ago through a mutual acquaintance. I wasn’t given Payne’s name, as he was thought to be dead. I was only told I would be working with the best of the best. Brilliant people at the top of their fields.” Now it was time to stretch the truth. She started with simple omission. There would be no need to mention her eagerness to join the project . “I knew little about the job, at first, only that it payed well. I had just gotten my doctorate degree a few years before. I had a steady job at a small hospital, but the offer seemed too good to pass up.”

“What happened when you accepted the job.” 

“I had meetings with several administrators of the LP lab. I signed contracts to ensure my secrecy. At first I assumed it was merely commercial, a precaution to prevent me from spilling secrets to their competitors.”

“Did you have any knowledge of the illegal dealings of the corporation?” Drishti sighed internally. She had gotten by on half-truths so far, but they would carry her no further. They gave her no choice but to lie outright.

“No. All I knew was that I would be studying the brains of young children, but they assured me that the participants were all willing.”

“At what point did you realize that was not the case.”

“As soon as I arrived in the lab, I knew something was wrong. But they kept me isolated in the neurology department, giving me samples to analyze and tests to run. I was completely detached from the experiments.”

“The experiments you refer to were children, were they not?” Shit. Drishti quickly realized her slip. She would have to do better, would have to overcompensate. 

“Yes. I never met any of them, not for the first three years I worked there.”

“After you realized the nature of the activity within that lab, what made you stay there?” Drishti furrowed her brow. She was straying further and further from fact. In all her years with the lab, she had never once considered resignation.

“I, I tried to leave at first.” Drishti clasped her hands shakily, the portrait of uncertainty. “I filed for resignation, but every time, my documents were returned. They cited the contracts I had signed when first taking the job, pointed out mistakes in my resignation request. After the third attempt, I began to realize they had no intention of ever letting me out.” There was a brief silence from the panel before her, and Drishti hazarded a glance. The officers exchanged looks of thoughtful consideration amongst each other, studying Drishti herself with cautious compassion. It was progress, but not enough.

“Dr. Rajani. Please describe your relationship to Dr. Payne and Dr. Levitsky.” Drishti was torn. She was reluctant to admit to her relationship with Payne, but it had hardly been discreet, and if any other employees mentioned it, her credibility would be irreparably destroyed. She would have to address it.

“I never met Dr. Levitsky. In the main lab, I stayed in my department. Our paths never crossed.”

“And Dr. Payne.”

“We were…intimate.” Drishti heard murmurs travel around the room. “But I didn’t want to be.” She added hurriedly, forcing her voice to waver.

“Did Dr. Payne threaten or otherwise coerce you?”

“Not…exactly.” She began, reasoning that the more self-accusatory she was, the more they would be inclined to believe her. “He never said it outright, but I knew what happened to people who questioned Payne's authority.” She paused, as though preparing herself to face an emotional topic. “I knew a man, Asher Bennet. He smiled at 947, just one smile and Payne had him killed.” Drishti lifted her gaze once more, fixing a tortured expression on her face. The effect of her testimony was clear, written across the appalled faces of of the officers in front of her. After a moment, one of the officers cleared his throat and continued.

“Can you explain the chain of events that led to your call to the police station?” Drishti nodded.

“I had been assigned to watch 947.” Drishti had to mentally check herself before continuing to ensure she used the right pronouns. “He had been administered a serum that was supposed to prevent him from using his…particular abilities, but it went wrong. He was in pain. Screaming and crying out, struggling against his restraints.” Drishti shuddered slightly. A bit dramatic, but she knew it was important that she seem to have the same reactions as they would. “He was just so… small. So young and innocent.” Drishti forced her voice to soften, growing warm and vulnerable. “One day, I came to feed him, and he nearly choked on the food. He was shaking and gasping but he kept begging me not to kill him. He thought I would kill him!” Drishti took a deep breath. “I knew I had to help him, to get him out.”

From that point, it was simple. The true events fit perfectly into her story. All except the security officer that is. There was no need to tell them about that. She looked up more frequently as she continued, trying to gauge the success of her efforts. The faces of the officers varied. Some still retained a fragile facade of caution, but most were at ease, openly displaying various degrees of concern or pity. But there was more. On the faces of several, she found the most promising emotion: guilt. These were the officers who had thought ahead, who had realized that despite all she had done, all she had endured, the law still required a minimum of eight years in prison for being an accessory to the infringement of the ban. These were the officers who went beyond pity, who already felt the injustice of unwavering law, who understood their own responsibility as enforcers of that law. These were the officers who would do anything to satisfy their thirst for justice, to assuage their guilt. These were the officers who would clear her name. 

As Drishti was led out the room, she forced herself to remain meek, stifling a smile as she was handed off between a series of increasingly apologetic officers. Finally, she was alone in her cell and away from prying eyes and she could no longer restrain herself. Which of these stiff officials would be able to take the actions she had had to take, to kill or be killed. She remembered the reassuring weight of a syringe in her hand, the odd rush as it plunged into skin. Power didn’t wait at an official distance, stifled by professional indifference. Power was close. Close enough to kiss or kill. 

And Drishti felt laughter rising up, building inside her, but there was something different about it. It was breathless, hitting her in waves that left her lightheaded. After everything she had done, everything she had faced, she was alive. Not even the law would stop her, at least not for long. She had them, trapped by their own naïveté. Her laughter grew, building to a peal so loud that Drishti had to clamp her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound.

Drishti Rajani wasn’t hysterical. Or if she was, well, no one would know.


	40. Natural

It was probably ridiculous to get emotional. There was nothing particularly moving about sitting in the small room, watching as 6 and 7 traced the call to Mr. Brooks’s home. Yet Pavia found herself growing inexplicably nostalgic. 6 was so different now; the pain, guilt, and fear that had clouded his face for so long were gone. Now he was calm, his face only touched by gentle smiles or small frowns of concentration. 

It had taken little convincing to enlist the boys’ help in tracking down Mr. Brooks’s blackmailer. After explaining the sacrifice Mr. Brooks was willing to make for the case, and the importance of finding whoever was responsible, they had readily agreed to help. 7 had taken the lead in the investigation, whether due to his experience with computers or his enhanced abilities. He sat in the main control chair, conducting operations and writing code sequences so quickly that Pavia had long since given up her early attempts to follow what he was doing. But 7 was far from controlling. 6 sat next to him, watching over his shoulder, and whenever he leaned in to offer a suggestion or observation, 7 would drop whatever he was doing, giving 6 his full attention. They were smooth, efficient, working together in perfect harmony. It was almost beautiful.

 _This is what it could be like._ Pavia realized. _Every day, a simple coexistence._ The circumstances would be different of course, but in their silent teamwork, she saw potential for so much more. A life of simple harmony, working together. 

“Pavia,” 6’s voice called her out of her musings. “I think we’ve found something.” Pavia rose from her chair walking around the central table to stand by 6. “We were able to trace the source of the call to Mr. Brooks. It came from a source outside the city, registered to the secretary to one of Prideaux’s closest officials.” Pavia frowned. It was close, but not concrete enough.

“Is there any way to trace where the order to make that call came from?” 6 shook his head. 

“We were able to find directions from the official in question, telling his secretary to conduct the call through a remote location, but that’s all we can definitively prove.”

“Which makes sense.” 7 added thoughtfully. “If I were Prideaux, I would have done anything to ensure I had no digital tie to such a blatantly illegal act.”

“But we need proof,” Pavia insisted. “For all we know, the idea might have originated from this official.” 6 smiled slightly.

“There’s more. We looked into the records of the news organizations that have been speaking out against us. 7 was able to get into financial records, and found that all of them had recently received substantial donations. The money was transferred from an anonymous account, but after checking the activity of that account, we could see that on the day of the transfer, over 500,000 PCUs had been deposited from that account, transferred electronically from the personal account of Mayor Prideaux.”

“He used a personal account?” Pavia asked, incredulous.

“I’m sure he didn’t want to,” 7 explained. “But using any sort of official account would mean the transaction would go on official record. The only way to keep the information safe from public scrutiny would be to handle it himself, through his own account.” 

“The only difficulty is in how to expose him.”

“What do you mean? We have clear proof don’t we?”

“Yes,” 6 agreed. “But in order to publicly accuse him, wouldn’t you have to explain how you found the evidence? Which, in this case, involved some techniques of questionable legality.” Pavia gritted her teeth. As always, he had a point. Publishing 6 and 7’s involvement could endanger the success of their upcoming trial, not to mention her own position. Still, there was nothing she wanted more than to march right up to the mayor’s office and launch a full investigation. She’d dealt with condescension, passive-aggressive resistance, and direct interference from him, and had put up with them all, but now it was different. He wanted them dead, he wanted her boys locked up or killed, and was willing to undermine his own laws to get his way. She couldn’t afford to have someone like that in power. 

Pavia looked up to see 6 and 7 watching her expectantly, waiting for her solution. She pursed her lips. 

“I’m going to wait and see about this. I don’t want to rush into anything. And once Mr. Brooks makes his statement, Mayor Prideaux loses all his power. He has nothing to hold over him any more.” 6 nodded in understanding, but 7 seemed unconvinced, his eyes narrowed. 

Pavia led them out of the cyber-secure technological base and through the halls to the main reception area. It was getting late, and they would need a place to stay for the night. As much as Pavia wanted to take them home with her, she knew it was critical now more than ever to maintain a professional distance, to assure everyone of her impartiality. The easiest option would be the holding cells they had been placed in upon their initial arrival, but those rooms had only one bed each, and Pavia didn’t need to ask to know that that would make both of them uneasy. She had witnessed firsthand 7’s utter panic when he was kept from 6, and 6’s growing distress during the weeks of separation. It would be cruel to separate them again, not to mention the generally inhospitable feel of the cells. 

After quickly consulting the database in the lobby, she found a small room in another wing of the station which was reserved for victims rather than criminals, people who were unable to return to their homes and needed somewhere safe to stay overnight. Some might disagree, but to Pavia, 6 and 7 seemed to fit the purposes perfectly. She reserved the room, and led 6 and 7 with her. After a few minutes, they reached the door, which Pavia palmed open. The room was small and sparsely decorated, with the two adjacent beds being the only furniture, but it lacked the almost purposeful inhospitableness of the holding cells, for which Pavia was grateful. She watched as the boys made their way to their respective beds without negotiation, 6 taking the bed closer to the door, while 7 took the bed by the far wall. It was almost uncanny, watching them silently settle into bed, as though they had been trained. 

“Lights out?” 7 asked 6 quietly, a hint of a smile on his lips. 6 laughed. Noting Pavia’s confusion, he turned to her.

“It’s like the lab,” he explained gesturing to the room in general. And everything fell into place. They had taken the beds out of habit. Their numbers- names?- were consecutive, so they would have slept next to each other. Silently going to their assigned beds before the lights went off at night. 

Pavia frowned. She would have expected them to be uncomfortable about the reminder of their life in the lab. But they had laughed, joked about it. She had always considered the lab was a place so dehumanizing that once out, they would never want to think about it. Pavia had dealt with her fair share of trauma victims, people whose lives were cruelly derailed by their experiences. But the lab wasn’t an interruption, it wasn’t something 6 and 7 could forget. It was their lives, the standard by which they judged everything else. There was no return to normal for them. Normalcy would have to be redefined, and Pavia was determined to help. 

She went to 6’s bed first, leaning over him to place a kiss on his forehead. She turned to 7’s bed with no small amount of unease, but she was determined to try. She had demonstrated her intentions with 6, so she approached slowly, watching his face for any signs of discomfort. His face flitted between several expressions, but none seemed particularly alarmed so she leaned over. He lay completely still as she kissed him, seeming barely to breathe, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t move away. 

After calling a guard to watch their door, Pavia made her way back to her office, weighing her options. If she were to expose Prideaux, launching a full investigation, there might be some issues. Some would question the breaches of privacy she had committed to find the information, would try to turn it into an issue of cyber-security, but ultimately, those attempts would fail. Pavia’s evidence was substantial and the people’s outrage at their leader’s indiscretions would quickly outweigh any other concerns. 

The only dangerous part was 6 and 7’s involvement. Pavia was well-liked and respected, but 6 and 7 might arouse suspicions. People might begin to claim that it was a set up, designed by 6 and 7 to frame Prideaux for bribery and blackmail. There were still defenses Pavia might use. She could argue that her own reasonable distrust of own employees and the possible corruption of the police station had given her no alternative. But fear was powerful, and right now the public seemed ready to believe anything about 6 and 7. 

_I can’t do that to them._ Pavia resolved. _I can’t put them at risk for helping me. What sort of message would that send?_ She sat down behind her desk, laying her hands flat against the surface. There had to be some other way. A way to keep Prideaux out of the way without endangering 6 and 7. 

Pavia turned on her personal computer and began composing a message. 

_Mr. Prideaux, it has recently come to the attention of the planetary police force that several transactions of dubious legality have been traced back to your administration, namely the use of blackmail to coerce Mr. Gregory Brooks and the transference of significant monetary funds to private news corporations in order to exert control or influence over these organizations. These concerns merit a full criminal investigation. If you wish to avoid such an investigation, you have twenty-four hours to file an official resignation._

It stung to be unable to help more directly, but she was certain it was the right course of action. There was something poetic about it even, using her knowledge of his blackmail to blackmail him. She would be deprived of the opportunity to see Prideaux behind bars, but that was fine. The important thing was to keep 6 and 7 safe, to remove Prideaux from power without putting them at risk. 

Pavia sent the message and leaned back in her chair, a subtle smile on her lips. 6 and 7 were so natural already, working together, even laughing, despite the bizarre and unnerving circumstances. There was a odd beauty to it, the way they had begun to build a life with nothing more than each other. Pavia refused to let Prideaux get in their way.


	41. Respect

The studio looked different when Mr. Brooks stepped onto the polished wood floors for the second time that month. Or perhaps it didn’t look different. The curtains were the same velvet black, the desk was just as shiny, Miranda Harrison wore the same slightly over-eager smile on her face. But something was different.

Harrison ushered him up onto the set, where she shook his hand in greeting.

“Thanks for fitting me in on such short notice.” Mr. Brooks said managing a genial smile. 

“No, no,” she insisted earnestly. “It was my pleasure.” Mr. Brooks chuckled to himself. While it was no small feat to fit such a substantial interview in with only a few hours of preparation, he didn’t doubt the honesty of Harrison’s statement for a second. This would be groundbreaking, the journalistic opportunity of the year.

He took his seat as the crew gave the one minute mark. Mr. Brooks straightened his tie, adjusted his suit. Now more than ever, he needed to appear calm, controlled, reasonable. But as the crew called thirty seconds, he was surprised to realize that he didn’t need to pretend. There was no panic today, no urge to run and hide, to lock himself in a bathroom. _I’ve waited long enough._

“Good evening, everyone. My name is Miranda Harrison, and I’m here tonight with a returning guest, Mr. Brooks.” Mr. Brooks nodded to the camera in recognition. “But tonight, our interview is of a much more personal nature. Mr. Brooks has decided to share his story with us. How he overcame his own humble beginnings in a chaotic, impoverished home, concealing his own lack of genetic modification so that he could reach a high enough position to bring about a change for the better.” Miranda turned to face him, shifting her attitude from to conversational. “Now, Mr. Brooks, according to the law that you yourself wrote, you are under no obligation to divulge your own genetic history to the public. You could have lived out your life without telling a soul. So, why speak up now?” Mr. Brooks nodded slowly, collecting his thoughts. 

“I believe this is a critical time for our society. As leaders of this planet, we agreed to make a bold change, taking a blind leap of policy with nothing more than good intentions to guide us. But now, two decades later, we’ve begun to look back and find that the world did not follow us. The gap between law and social reality is no smaller than it was in 3050. People have merely substituted ignorance for acceptance. Telling ourselves that not knowing is the same as not caring. And in that dangerous ignorance, that self-inflicted blindness, we color the world based on our preconceptions, our prejudices.

“But I am not here today to decry the state of our society. I am here because I believe that the world is ready to face the challenge of truth. Even with the equality of opportunity that the GenetiBan has enforced, people still assume that behind the facade of equality, there is still a divide, that all high-paying specialized positions are held by genetically engineered people. The prejudices remain: genetically modified people are considered stronger, smarter, more fit to serve difficult jobs in every way. I am here to prove that this is not the case.”

“So speaking of prejudice, would you be able to tell us a little about your upbringing, and how that upbringing brought you where you are today?” Mr. Brooks frowned, his thoughts turning inward. 

“It was devastating, the utter lack of hope in my town. Watching children grow up with cynicism in their veins, passed down through hundreds of years. No one cared, no one tried, because their was nothing to aim for. You lived, you survived, if you were lucky, you had a family to come home to. I wasn’t lucky.” Mr. Brooks paused thoughtfully. “Sometimes I wonder if that was a blessing in disguise. I had no vision of a domestic future, I didn’t even know what that would look like, so I became determined to find something else. I was a good student. I worked hard and eventually earned a scholarship to a prominent boarding school. It was there that I began to gain an interest in politics, and to make key connections. I had seen, felt, the injustices of genetic discrimination. So I forged my genetic readouts. I lied and broke the law and did whatever it took to make sure no one would face that same struggle I had.” Miranda Harrison’s winning smile was long gone, replaced by a look of genuine admiration. She stared at him for a second, taking in his words, before shaking herself slightly, and returning to the prearranged list of questions.

“Mr. Brooks, earlier you talked about the gap between the GenetiBan and the reality of the current public views. Is there anything you would change if you could go back in time and rewrite that groundbreaking law?”

“That’s an excellent question. The GenetiBan is far from perfect, and I think we’ve made some positive adjustments in the past years, but in the end, I would have to say no. There is a limit to what can be accomplished with a law. You can change how people act, how they interact with one another on an official level, but beyond that, laws are powerless. That’s why I’m here today, speaking directly to the people, telling my story, rather than writing an amendment. I’m here to be living proof that a person is more than their genetics, more than anything that can be measured quantitatively.” 

“That’s a beautiful message, Mr. Brooks. However, there are those who might argue that this entire issue will soon disappear naturally, as our current population is gradually displaced by a population born entirely after the GenetiBan.” 

“It’s a valid argument, to a certain extent. While it’s true that the particular issue of genetic prejudice will eventually become merely philosophical, this specific problem stems from a greater issue, one that humanity has struggled to overcome for millennia. That issue is an inability to see past differences, to reinforce our own superiority by telling ourselves that those different from us are to be feared, hated, or cast out of society. Throughout history humans have always found some difference to fixate on, whether it be race, gender, or sexual orientation. Earth today is a diverse planet, undivided by nationality, skin color, but while basking in our own enlightenment, we have convinced ourselves that we have overcome not only the social issues of the past, but human nature itself. Genetic prejudice is one of a long line of prejudices. And while we have taken the first step, and made discrimination illegal, we are by no means finished, nor will our prejudices simply disappear with time.” 

“Mr. Brooks, I’m sorry to say that our time is almost up, but before we close this segment, I want to ask you about another issue that you have become involved in: the highly publicized case of experiments 946 and 947. Does this case have any connection to the issue of genetic prejudice?”

“Absolutely, Miranda. In the past few weeks I’ve gotten to know them very well, and I’ve found a lot of similarities between them and myself. We are all victims of genetic prejudice, albeit for different reasons. So I believe that the same reason that 946 and 947 need to be free is the same reason I came here today. I believe the world needs people like them, like me. People who will challenge humanity to change, to face differences head on and deal with them. Shutting these boys away would be not only an act of cruelty, but one of cowardice.”

She turned back to Mr. Brooks. “Thank you so much, Mr. Brooks, for your time, and for your courage in coming forward with this personal statement. On behalf of CPNS, I'd like to wish you the best of luck in the upcoming trial.” 

“Thank you for having me,” Mr. Brooks responded, shaking her hand. The shot closed in to include Miranda’s face exclusively as she addressed the audience.

“The trial to decide the fate of 946 and 947 will be taking place the day after tomorrow at three in the afternoon. You can find live coverage of the case right here on CPNS.”

Mr. Brooks was escorted quietly off the set, as Miranda finished her transition into the next segment. Just outside the set, a large group of people in business attire were gathered. As Mr. Brooks came into view they quickly approached him, offering handshakes and well-wishes as they thanked him on behalf of the network. Mr. Brooks made his way through the group with surprising patience. He had always hated being praised, accepting admiration from anyone had always felt dishonest somehow. Respect meant nothing when that respect would be lost if people knew who he really was, where he came from. 

Now Mr. Brooks felt no need to hold back. Their admiration was no longer conditional; they had seen him for who he truly was, and respected him all the same. Mr. Brooks smiled easily as he grasped each hand. He had shaken a lot of hands in his career, received a lot of thanks, but never before had he truly believed that he deserved them.


	42. Quiet

6 spent the day before the trial in the police station. Early in the morning, he woke to a knock on the door, which opened a moment later as Liang walked in. She led 6 and 7 to a small office where she ran through the main points of their defensive argument. For hours, she rehearsed their statements, practicing how to respond honestly but without saying anything that would alarm the jury. 6’s angle was simple, his actions were all out of a desire to help 7, even when the law was against him. 6 was a natural, speaking truthfully while also eliciting compassion, and Liang quickly deemed him prepared. 7 was more difficult. He seemed to have his switchboard back, at least to some extent, as his face was beginning to settle back into its emotionless mask. But his mannerisms were as unusual as ever. To 6 they were familiar, almost endearing, but he could see from Liang’s growing frustration that she was concerned 7’s behavior wouldn’t go over well. To make matters worse, 7 hated talking about what had happened. He never said it out loud, but it was obvious to 6. Every time he had to talk about the police station, the serum he was drugged with, his body would seize up, sometimes he would stop talking abruptly, even in the middle of a sentence. 

After a dozen failed attempts, Liang seemed to catch on to 7’s distress. “Every time you get upset,” she told him. “I want you to look over at 6, ok? I want you to tell yourself that everything is going to be alright.” 7 nodded. He tried again, his eyes never leaving 6’s face. It was a little better, but Liang still seemed unsatisfied.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 7 admitted quietly when Liang left the room for a few minutes. “Back in the lab nothing bothered me like this. I was almost killed, and I didn’t care.” 6 didn’t know how to answer, what to say to comfort 7. He had begun to feel worried himself, a queasiness pulling at his stomach at the thought of the trial. Of going back to the dome, defending himself to the people who would decide whether or not he and 7 would live and be free.  
When Liang returned, she changed her approach, familiarizing them with the format of the overall proceedings, testing them with possible questions that the prosecution might ask. 

“The most important thing to remember,” she told them over and over, “is to tell the truth. They will say terrible things about you, they will try to scare you, but the truth is on your side. Just be honest. Mr. Brooks and I will take care of the rest.”

But 6 couldn’t accept that. As much as he wanted to trust her, it seemed to good to be true. 6 could hardly imagine what it would feel like to do as she said. To simply relax and let someone else take care of things. 

When the sky outside the police station began to fade, Liang led them to their room. After one final reassurance, she left them alone for the night, promising to return for them early the next day. 6 settled in to bed in silence his mind too weighed down to make small talk. He gave 7 a quick smile as he turned out the light, but it felt forced, tight on his face.

7’s lips twitched slightly, but it was almost pitifully unconvincing. 6 slept fitfully, tossing and turning in the dark. All too soon he was back, the imposing structure of the courthouse before him.

The dome was just as 6 had remembered it. Towering high above, a huge empty space. And down below, a swarm of people, writhing, packed together, too sharp a contrast to the giant column of nothing above them. 

Pavia and Liang were with them, leading them into the courthouse, but 6 barely noticed them, reluctant to take his eyes off 7 for even a moment. His hand kept grasping at air, as though trying to reach out and take 7’s, to lock them together against the pressing masses. But every time 6 reached, his hands hit cold metal and he remembered. _Can’t hold 7’s hand, he can’t let go of his crutches.  
_

They were approaching the middle of the lobby, when a man rushed towards them, one hand holding a communication device to his ear as he barreled forward, looking over his shoulder, not noticing the two small boys in front of him. 6 didn’t have time to think. He dove to the side, letting the man pass between him and 7. As soon as the man was behind them, 6 tried to fight his way back to 7’s side, but there was another person in the way, rushing through the opening the man had left. 6 could just see 7, a small bald head, eyes searching for his own between the swarming figures.

But there were more people in the way now, pouring into the gap between them, too busy, too rushed to look down and notice the small boy desperately fighting to get through. An elbow found its way unseen to 6’s head, and he was reeling, blinking away dizziness. He raised his eyes and they found 7’s face just in time to see it twist in pain. 

7’s scream pierced through the roar of the crowd, and 6 was desperate, pushing against the growing mass with all its might. But the mass was no longer a passive obstruction. It pushed back, jostling 6, glaring down at him. The stray elbows, heavy business cases, no longer accidental as they collided with him. And all the time he could hear the screaming, growing more terrified and despairing as the crowd carried 7 away forcing its way between them with relentless indifference. 

Something hard hit 6, and he fell to the floor. The floor. Hard marble bashed against his head and 6 saw stars. He was drifting, the dome looming over him. He could hear himself screaming now, an anguished cry of desperation, but it was lost in the great space, the emptiness above him. The crowd stepped over him, unhearing, uncaring. 

Yet he could still hear 7, calling out his name, his voice panicked. “6!” It was loud, too loud for someone so far away. “6, 6, please!” Perhaps he was hallucinating. How could it sound so close. “6, wake up!”

6 was jolted into darkness. There was no crowd, no dome. He lay not on marble, but on a soft bed, sheets tangled around his legs. He had stopped screaming, but the sound of it still rang in his memory, sweat and tears still damp on his face. And 7 was there, leaning over him, one hand gripping his shoulder tightly, and all thoughts of crowded dome left his head instantly, because the pure terror on 7’s face was far more pressing.

“It was just a dream, 7.” 6 told him hoarsely, vaguely aware that he wasn’t the one who should be saying that. 7 nodded in understanding but looked no less shaken. Carefully he perched on the edge of 6’s bed, setting his crutches down. A sudden loud pounding on the door made them both jump. 

“This is officer Raymond.” A voice called from the other side. “I heard screaming, is everything alright?” 6 didn’t give 7 the chance to answer.

“It’s fine.” He called back, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “I had a nightmare.”

“Is there anyone I should call?” 

“No.” 6 responded immediately. He was alright, it was just a dream, but he was afraid if the officer came in, saw him shaking and crying, they might take him away. Take him to the small bare room like they had the first time he cried. Not that it was bad, but 6 didn’t want it. Didn’t want to answer questions from strangers who had no hope of even understanding him let alone helping him. 

“Alright.” The officer responded hesitantly. “Let me know if you need anything.”

6 looked up at 7’s face, watching it twitch and morph, flitting rapidly from one expression to the next as he tried to think of something to say. Which was strange, considering 7’s switchboard was working again, at least as far as 6 knew. So maybe it was a choice. 

“I don’t want to go back there.” 6 croaked, his voice almost too soft to be heard. 7 didn’t have to ask where 6 meant. Instead his hand found 6’s buried underneath the blankets and held it. 6 smiled to himself. _Still an impeccable logician. He saw how I held his hand to comfort him in the police car._ The memory felt distant, like it had taken place in another lifetime. _And now he’s applying his observations to this situation._

“What time is it?” 6 asked, because as much as he wanted 7 to stay, tomorrow was important. 7 couldn’t risk losing sleep. 

“Almost six o’clock.” 7 answered. “We have to be up by seven anyway,” he added, seeming to sense the reason behind 6’s question. So they didn’t go back to sleep. Instead they waited out the morning huddled together on 6’s bed. 6 didn’t speak, not wanting the weigh down the air with his worries. 7 didn’t speak either, not that that was unusual in itself, but there was something different about it. Usually 7’s silence felt tense to 6, like there were a million things in 7’s head that he was struggling to repress. But not now. Now it was more natural somehow, a fleeting quiet that seemed to spread throughout 7’s body, letting his posture relax, his motions slow, and his face settle into a surprisingly gentle expression. 

It was calming, seeing 7 like this, strange as it was, and as seven o’clock grew nearer, 6 found himself dreading it, willing time to slow, to give him just a few minutes, just a few moments more. It was useless of course. Too soon, there was a knock on the door and 6 felt 7’s hand tighten around his. Pavia entered, her face a mixture of anxiousness and hope.

“Good morning,” she said, giving them a tight-lipped smile. “Time to go.”  



	43. Vulnerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end

The ride to the courthouse was far less eventful than it had been last time. Pavia had called ahead to ensure the press would be held back, so they rode through the streets without obstruction. Yet as the silence in the vehicle grew increasingly tense, 6 began to wish for a distraction. Anything to break the worry that strained the air, pulling it thin, taught. At first Pavia had tried to make conversation, giving 6 and 7 the news of Prideaux’s official resignation, but the silence had quickly won over after that. Now Pavia and Liang sat quietly, exchanging a few looks between them. They seemed significant, like they were saying something but 6 wasn’t sure what. 7’s face had long since lost its gentleness, hardening into a familiar mask as he watched the city through the window. But his hand was wrapped around 6’s. That was something at least. 

When they reached the courthouse, 6 reluctantly let go of 7, handing him his crutches as he got out of the vehicle. The dome was far less crowded than it had been in 6’s dream. There were a few dozen people milling around under the dome, several reporters trying to snap photos, but they were escorted by small security force which provided a buffer between them and the crowd. Still, 6 kept close to 7, glancing over at him every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t moved. 

The courtroom was much larger than 6 had expected, at least twice the size of the one used for Levitsky’s trial. In the middle of the room were two long tables facing the judge’s podium. In front of the tables were three raised podiums where the witnesses and lawyers would stand to speak. The sides and back of the room were lined with raised seats filled with people. The jury, as Liang had called them. 

Liang and Pavia led 6 and 7 to one of the long tables, where Mr. Brooks was waiting for them. As they they took their seats, 6 noticed a small partitioned section on the other side of the room where he could see Levitsky waiting, flanked by guards. The doors to the courtroom opened again and three people entered: a tall bearded man, a worried looking woman, and a girl who looked a few years older than 6. Liang and Mr. Brooks rose to greet them, shaking the adults’ hands, calling them Mr. Eriksen, Dr. Eriksen. So the girl must be Kiersten, the girl who was designed by Levitsky, who Liang had said was “like them,” but as 6 watched her he couldn’t see many similarities. As intelligent as she might be, there was no plaque on her arm, her head was covered in hair like everyone else. But as she walked over to introduce herself to 7 and him, he began to notice something. He wasn’t sure if it was the look in her eyes, the precision of her movements, but something felt familiar. She hadn’t grown up in a lab, but Kiersten had learned to be cautious. 

The Eriksens took their seats, and gradually the whole room began to settle. When everyone had found their place, the judge called the court to order, taking his place before the room. 

“The defendants stand accused of existential infringement of the Ban on Genetic Drugs and Testing, and of illegal use of cyber violence against the Central Planetary Prison and Police Station. The prosecution have forgone the death penalty in favor of lifelong institutionalization. It is for you, the people, to decide whether either, both, or neither of the defendants should be allowed to live as free members of society.” 

As the lawyer for the prosecution stood to give her opening statements, 6 swallowed hard. Liang had told him as little as possible about the sort of institutions they would be placed in, but 6 knew enough to know that he didn’t want to be in those places. Places where he wouldn’t be able see Pavia, Liang, or 7. But worrying about that wouldn’t help. 6 turned to 7 only to find his face completely blank. But 6 knew by now what that meant. 7 felt vulnerable, surrounded by strangers as they judged him and decided his fate. And nothing terrified 7 more than being vulnerable. 

6 racked his brains for something to say, anything that could calm 7, could reassure him, but everything sounded hollow and meaningless in his head. _How can I tell him everything will be alright when I don’t know myself?_

“People of the jury, the laws of earth are clear. As the products of an illegal genetic experiment, 946 and 947 are a threat to the safety and stability of our society. Their abilities and behavior would not only give them an unfair advantage over others, but would be dangerous to public safety. Our modern society is based on acceptance and equal opportunity, and we are slowly working towards a future in which no person will be given genetic advantage over another. The introduction of two people, so extremely modified would prove a great disruption. How can we preach equality and opportunity while allowing 946 and 947 to roam free? We cannot afford to take the GenetiBan lightly. We cannot afford to make exceptions. The GenetiBan created peace, social justice, and only through the execution of the law can we ensure the continuance of our current era of enlightenment.

Even if these laws were not taken into consideration, there would be grounds enough to have 946 and 947 put into isolation. Even in the few weeks since they were discovered, they have managed to wreak havoc on the world. 946 was responsible for the first break at the Central Planetary Prison in almost half a century, and the device designed by 947 was used to bring chaos to the Central Planetary Police Station, the Central Planetary Hospital and the Northeast Power Plant, causing over five hundred deaths and hundreds of thousands of PCUs in damage. This is only a taste of the destruction and danger that could be caused should 946 and 947 be allowed to move freely through society. It falls to you, people of the jury, to ensure the safety and stability of this planet.”

6 looked down at his lap, purposefully avoiding the dozens of eyes that were no doubt watching him. He heard Mr. Brooks stand up to give his opening statements, and 6 looked up, taking in the reactions at their table. The Eriksens and Liang looked concerned but collected, Pavia was livid, and 7 remained expressionless. Mr. Brooks met 6’s gaze for a moment before he began, giving him just the slightest of nods. 

“None of you here have more reason to fear these children than I did. I’ve spent my life fighting against the genetically modified, struggling to free myself and other unmodified people from the discrimination and disdain of those who were deemed superior based on their genetic composition. When I first heard of the discovery of this lab, I was devastated, afraid that this would threaten the world I have worked so hard to build. But since then, I have learned to see things in a new light. This case has exposed to me the fear, distrust and hatred still lying beneath the surface of our society, and the failure of my own work to prevent such dangerous sentiments. 

The prosecution would put these children, who have already suffered so much isolating, dehumanizing treatment, into facilities where they would be cut off from the world, no family, no friends, no chance to discover the wonders of the world or their places in it, depriving them of the vital opportunities that every child deserves. And for what? The prosecution calls for this action for the purpose of preserving the status quo, preventing social discord, but what is to be gained by doing so, when you consider the true condition of the status quo. We are not living in a utopia, in a world free from prejudice or discord. We do not need to merely preserve but rather to change, to improve.” Mr. Brooks took a brief pause surveying the room once again.

“The prosecution also claims that these children have shown themselves to be a threat through their own actions. This is simply not the case. While 946 and 947 have demonstrated their intellectual prowess through the attack on the Central Planetary Police Station and the release of Dr. Levitsky from prison, neither of these acts are proof of any dangerous or malicious intent. The attack on the police station was made while 947 was under significant psychological duress and direct manipulation by Dr. Payne. And 946 released Dr. Levitsky out of sheer desperation to save the life of his friend. The circumstances under which these children were brought up are as unprecedented as they are deplorable. They have been subject to physical, emotional and psychological abuse, have been given numbers, marked as property. It is no surprise that, given these extreme conditions they have learned to mistrust, to take matters into their own hands.

Many of you may be surprised to see me here defending children created as the product of an illegal genetic experiment. You might point out that according to the GenetiBan, which I wrote, they should be killed, destroyed for the safety of the public. But despite all the good that the GenetiBan has done, it is not infallible. The purpose of courts is to clean up the mistakes of people like me. If laws were all-encompassing, water-tight bundles of undeniable truth, then what need would there be for courts. People of the jury, you have been called here, not to quote my own phrasings back at me, but to look deeper to understand the motives behind the words. And if you look, and find that those motives were anything but equality, justice and fair opportunity for all, then my life's work has failed the world I wrote it for."

After a brief moment of silence, Mr. Brooks sat down and the judge called a brief recess. 6 was surprised to find himself smiling. Mr. Brooks’s speech had been perfect. Even though the trial had just begun, 6 could already feel the atmosphere of the room changing. 

The witnesses called by the prosecution were just as Liang had predicted. Witnesses from Payne’s lab and the police station confirmed 6’s release of Levitsky and the extent of 7’s involvement in the cyber attacks. A geneticist confirmed that 6 and 7’s genes had been illegally enhanced. The only surprise came when a psychologist was called to testify against 7, citing that his shared DNA with Dr. Levitsky could increase the likelihood that he might lose his mind too. 6 gritted his teeth. 7 was nothing like Levitsky, how could he be? What did it matter if their genes were the same? The whole reasoning behind the GenetiBan was that a person was more than just genetics. 

When the witnesses for the prosecution were finished, Liang addressed their table to give them a quick reminder.

“We’re starting off with Kiersten, Dr. Levitsky and Pavia, we need to establish the facts. Lastly, we have 946 and then 947.”

Kiersten was called up, and took her place on the central podium. She glanced around a bit, but seemed collected overall. Liang stood and began to ask her questions. The direct exam was simple; Kiersten explained her modifications, how they had affected her life, why she had chosen to appear in court. She spoke well, calmly and eloquently but not without emotion. When her questions were finished, Liang sat down, and at the other table a man stood. 

“Miss Eriksen, you said that the defendants would be able to fit into society. How can you be certain of this, given that their upbringing was completely different from your own.” 6 frowned slightly. It was the same concern 6 had had, that she was too different from them. But Kiersten seemed unfazed.

“I never said I was certain. How could I be? It’s true, they’ve been through more than I could imagine, but that doesn’t exactly pertain to the issue at hand. I’m here to prove that my genetic modifications have not disrupted society. They have similar modifications. Their upbringing might cause some personal issues for them, but in the eyes of the GenetiBan, we are the same: products of genetic experimentation. I was under the impression that that is why their freedom is at risk, unless you want to prosecute them for being victims of trauma and isolation.”

The prosecuting lawyer looked visibly stunned. She shuffled through her files for a moment before clearing her throat. But the cross-exam was over. Kiersten hadn’t just answered the question, she had diminished the confidence and credibility of the prosecution, made them look foolish, incompetent. When Kiersten stepped down from the podium, there was no question of who had the upper hand.

Levitsky’s testimony was surprisingly smooth. He explained in scientific detail the modifications made to both 6 and 7. He described the lab and the techniques used to teach the experiments, including the blue-light room and its effects. 6 found himself glancing over to 7 frequently during the testimony, but there was no need. 7 remained surprisingly calm, listening to Levitsky with detached interest. 

Pavia’s testimony was also surprising. 6 had expected her to speak only as captain of the planetary police force, to speak only on the subject of the crimes, but she didn’t. Instead, she started from the beginning. 

“The first thing 6 did was ask me to help his friend,” she said, “and the more I got to know 6 and 7, the more it became clear that that was always their priority. Helping each other.” She went on to describe 7’s kidnapping, how 6 had helped, and how 7, in turn, had given up his chance at freedom to save 6’s life. 6 found his throat tighten as she described how 7 had been detained in the hospital, how he had panicked at the thought that 6 was dead. 

“This was not the seemingly unfeeling boy I had come to know,” Pavia said, and 6 was surprised by the warmth in her voice. He knew Pavia had found 7 cold, alienatingly odd, but recent events seemed to have changed her mind.

When Pavia’s testimony was finished, 6 was called. He glanced to 7, who gave him what was probably supposed to be a reassuring nod. Standing on the podium, 6 felt very small, but as he looked to the faces around him he was reassured. He remembered his first meeting with Mr. Brooks. _Weak and harmless._ _That’s what they expect, so that’s what I’ll show them._ It wouldn’t be hard. 6 wouldn’t have to lie, he just had to let his feeling show, let them see his concern, his desperation, his love for his family. When the prosecution finished their cross-exam, 6 stepped down from the podium with a small smile on his face. He took his seat at the table. 7 was next, and 6 felt his stomach churn at the thought of what might go wrong. But they were so close. If only 7 could pull through. 

6 closed his eyes, desperate to escape the worry, the fear, just for a moment. In the darkness he could see his memories. The soft bed around him, gentle sunlight on green walls. It was faint, muddled by pain and guilt, but 6 clung to it. For the first time he let himself imagine what it would be like. Waking up to the soft sunlight everyday, to Pavia and Liang and 7. 6 had had a taste of happiness and he wanted it more than anything. 


	44. Human

Liang didn’t understand what was troubling her. Their case had gone as expected, better in some respects. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, that it wasn’t enough, she hadn’t done enough. Which was ridiculous of course. Liang knew how much this case meant, especially to her wife, and she’d worked harder on it than any case she could remember. But still, there was 947. The one aspect of the trial she hadn’t been able to pin down and secure. He was unpredictable, sometimes stubbornly refusing to show any kind of expression, sometimes collapsing completely.

As 946 took his seat, Liang walked to 7’s side.

“Remember, the truth,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “It’s going to be alright, you don’t have to worry.” 7 nodded, but his face was completely blank. _If only he could do something about that. If only he knew how to convince people that he’s human._

7 made his way to the podium, where a chair had been placed at her request. With some difficulty, he climbed up to the chair and sat, but he kept his crutches clasped in his hands as though ready to stand at any moment. Liang ran through the basic questions she had prepared, and 7 answered promptly and quickly. Liang knew she should be relieved; he could’ve broken down, could’ve faltered and stopped speaking as he had often done during their practice. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t enough. His face held the same utterly blank expression throughout her questions, his voice monotonous, too careful, too calculated. In practice she had had to stop him from getting upset, now she began almost to wish that he would. His testimony might be truthful, but he wouldn’t win anyone’s sympathies if he kept this up.

Liang sat down, her questions finished, feeling entirely useless. She glanced briefly to 6, and his expression only confirmed her concerns. His eyes were closed, his face screwed up in worry. The prosecuting lawyer stood to cross-examine 7.

“947, were you aware that the device you created to attack the police station might also be used on other systems?” 7’s face twitched but snapped back into a neutral expression almost instantly.

“Yes. I knew it was adaptable to any system, but I didn’t anticipate that it would be used for anything else.”

“I see.” The lawyer paused, and 7 shifted slightly, the grip on his crutches tightening. “947, during the attack on the police station, Dr. Payne threatened to have the station destroyed. Were you prepared to carry out that order, had he given it?” 7’s eyes flitted to 6, who nodded encouragingly.

“I hadn’t really considered it.” 7’s voice was quiet, choppy and broken. “I knew how to destroy the station, but I didn’t expect to. Payne gave them a deal and I knew they would have to take it.”

“But you said you knew how to destroy the station. Certainly you must have been preparing to destroy it.”

“I didn’t think. I didn’t think about anything except the work. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” 7 looked around, shrinking under the gaze of the room. He opened his mouth but nothing came out, so he closed it again, lowering his head. “7 can you tell us why you could only think about the work?” To Liang’s dismay, 7 only shook his head. This was always the part of the story that caused 7 the most trouble: the voices, the loneliness, missing 6. In his statement he’d been able to explain it somewhat, but it always seemed to take a toll on him, though whether from guilt or from residual distress she didn’t know.

“Very well then, moving on.” The lawyer paused to clear his throat. When he spoke he addressed the court at large. “While witnesses have testified as to the extent of 947’s abilities, we have no actual way of proving that these testimonies are true, that his abilities are as harmless as Dr. Levitsky claims. Therefore the prosecution asks for the chance to see a demonstration, here, in this court.” Liang bit back her objections. As inhumane and pointless as it was, it would only do more harm if 7 were to refuse. Then the jury might begin to wonder if he had something to hide. 7’s face had begun to twitch, spasming constantly as he tried to keep himself together.

“Proceed,” the judge said, nodding to the prosecuting lawyer.

“Wh-what do you want me to do?” 7 asked, his voice unsteady. 6 turned to her.

“Can’t you stop this? Can’t you do anything.” His voice was strained. Liang shook her head.

“It will only make him look guilty.” 6 was seething, but he couldn’t argue.

“947, we would like you to demonstrate for us your physical control.” A woman rose from the prosecuting table with small medical device. “Dr. Rivers will measure your heart rate. We would like you to raise it.” 7 nodded and the woman approached the podium, placing the device around his wrist.

“His current heart rate is 93 beats per minute,” she announced. 

“How specific is your control.” The lawyer approached 7’s podium.

“Very.” 7’s voice was clipped, his hands still gripping his crutches. 

“Can you raise your heart rate to exactly 200 beats per minute?” 7 didn’t answer, but the doctor made an immediate noise of surprise. 

“200 BPM exactly.” She said breathlessly.

“Now, we would like to test your ability to block out sensory input. Dr. Rivers has a device that will administer a harmless but painful shock.”

“Objection.” Liang spat. “This is inhumane.”

“The shock will be administered to myself to prove its effects,” the lawyer responded. “If 947 has been telling the truth, it won’t hurt him.”

“Overruled.” 

Dr. Rivers placed a pad against the lawyer’s forearm. She pressed a button, and the man groaned in pain, his hand seizing up and twitching. After he recovered, the lawyer addressed 7.

“You have turned off pain before?”

“Yes.” The word felt heavy, it’s implications hanging in the air. Dr. Rivers placed the pad on 7’s arm.

“Are you ready?”

7 nodded. The doctor pressed the button, but 7 didn’t react, didn’t even flinch. Liang was starting to see why the prosecution had wanted to give a demonstration. It was disturbing, watching him turn things on and off like a computer. But as the doctor removed the pad from 7’s arm, Liang could see him shaking, his arms trembling so violently that he lost his grip on one of his crutches. He reached down to get it, but he couldn’t seem to grasp it. When he sat back up, his face was twisted into a terrifying expression, too strange to name. _He is not a computer. He’s a child, a person, and he’s breaking._

Liang could see the prosecution exchanging glances, but she wasn’t certain of what they meant. Perhaps they were starting to see that their test was failing, that 7 wasn’t as unfeeling as they’d assumed. But what if this was their plan. What if they knew how unstable he was, how easy it would be to break him, to prove that he was too fragile for the world. 

“One final test,” the lawyer announced. “Dr. Rivers will shine a bright, but harmless light into your eyes, first with your vision on and then off.”  
7 nodded. Dr. Rivers lifted a small flashlight. 

“Ready?” 7 nodded. She turned the light on, and 7 flinched violently, closing his eyes tightly against it. She turned the light off.

“Now,” the lawyer told him, “Please turn off your vision.” Immediately, 7’s eyes glazed over, becoming blank and unfocused.

“Ready?” Dr. Rivers asked again, raising her flashlight. 7 nodded again. When Dr. Rivers shone her light, 7 didn’t respond at all, his eyes wide open, posture unchanged.

“Alright” the lawyer said, “this concludes our test. 947, please restore your vision to normal.” 7 didn’t respond, his eyes were still glassy, unfocused. Dr. Rivers waved a hand in front of his face. 

“947, the test is over.” 

“I can’t see.” 7’s voice was shaky. 

“Yes, but you can turn your vision back on now.”

“I can’t see I can’t. I can’t.” 7’s voice was rising, growing more and more panicked.

“He’s going into hysterics,” Dr. Rivers called out. “We need a sedative.”

“No!” 6 practically screamed. “It’ll only make it worse.” 7 seemed to snap to attention at the sound of 6’s voice.

“6!” he called out, desperate now. “I can’t see, I can’t turn it on!”

“His heart rate is becoming dangerous.” Dr. Rivers stepped down from the the podium to search her medical kit. But 7 only grew worse, thrashing in his chair, his face twisting in fear as his eyes darted around, unseeing.

“6!” he cried out again, with such hopelessness, such heartrending despair, that Liang was ready to run to him herself. But 6 was far ahead of her. Amid the chaos of the room, 6 had pushed his way up to the podium. Kneeling in front of his chair, he took both of 7’s hands in his own. 

“7, I’m here. Calm down 7, you’re alright.”

“It’s dark, it’s dark everywhere.” 7’s voice was quiet but threatening to break at every moment. “I don’t like the dark.”

“I know.” 6 looked on the verge of tears, but Liang could see him desperately trying to hold himself together. “It won’t always be dark, 7. Just listen to my voice, ok? That’s all you have to do.”

“Just that?” Liang was surprised at the softness, the weakness in his voice. There was something oddly childlike about it.

“Yes, just that.” 6 managed a small smile, even though 7 couldn’t see it. “You can feel my hands right?”

“Yes.” By now the entire courtroom had fallen silent, 6 and 7’s voices sounding small in the echoes of the courtroom.

“You can hear my voice, and you can feel my hands,” 6 repeated, “so it’s alright.” Despite his steady voice, Liang could hear the edge of doubt. He was convincing himself as much as 7. “I want you to close your eyes, relax, and when you open them, you’re going to see me.”

“But what about them?”

“Them?”

“The people. If I open my eyes I’ll see them. They’ll be watching me and they’ll know I’m scared.”

“It’s alright to be scared, 7. Please just…” 6’s voice trailed off for a second and he swallowed hard. “Just, close your eyes.” 7 did, nodding silently. “When you open them, your going to see me. You don’t have to look at anyone else.” 7 nodded again. His eyes stayed closed for a long moment, during which the whole courtroom waited silently, not daring to speak. Liang watched as 7 slowly opened his eyes, and 6’s face seemed almost to collapse in relief. 

“I can see you now,” 7 whispered and 6 grinned through his tears. Liang knew she should do something, she should ask for a recess, but when she tried to speak she found her throat wouldn’t work properly. The judge spoke.

“Does the prosecution have any more questions for this witness?” Liang smiled to herself. It didn’t matter whether they did or not; forcing 7 to be questioned after the ordeal he had just gone through would risk provoking outrage. But as 6 helped 7 down from the podium, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, Liang could see that the damage had already been done. The prosecution’s plan had backfired. As she surveyed the faces of the jury, she saw her own emotions reflected; anger, concern, resolution. 7 was a child. He deserved a home, a family. 

6 and 7 slowly made their way back to the table, their faces tear-stained. Pavia turned to Liang, the distress clear on her face. 

“How can this happen? Is this legal?”

“It doesn’t matter. It didn’t work.” When the prosecuting lawyer stood for his closing statements, Liang could see the glint of desperation in his eyes. It wasn’t the first time she had seen that.

“People of the jury, the events you have watched unfold are a testimony to the danger and instability of the defendants. Their upbringing has left them desperate, mentally unsound, and a danger to themselves and others. From the testimony of our experts and witnesses, it is clear that the GenetiBan was right to place restrictions on the creation of such people. They threaten not only the world around them, the very foundation of our society, but also their own wellbeing. They are broken, dangers to themselves and those around them, and the only way to ensure their safety and that of our planet is to keep them securely held, out of harms way.” Liang could feel the blood rushing to her head. She would not allow him to make such blatant lies, to claim that institutionalization was for their good. 

“People of the jury, you cannot allow these children to be wrongfully punished.” Liang took a deep breath. She had to remain calm, rational. “They cannot be thrown away, locked up, simply out of fear. I understand your concerns. I understand your worries and doubts.” Liang swallowed hard. “There was a time when I doubted them too. But the simple truth is, they are innocent. They never asked to be born a crime, to be raised like lab rats. In a world that wants them dead, broken, controlled, they have dared to exist, to live. In a world that only ever showed them fear, pain, distrust and dehumanization they have learned to love. They have managed to find hope, to trust in each other. They have suffered, but they are not broken. 

Institutionalizing these children may seem like the easy path, the safe path, but each and every one of you must first understand the gravity of the choice you are about to make. This ruling will set a precedent. It will decide how the courts of earth deal with those who are different, who threaten the status quo. It seems easy to simply dismiss them, throw them away and never think of them again. But if we decide that those who challenge the world have no place in it, than we are depriving humanity of a wonderful chance. The chance to see them as human, to know them and love them and to understand. Only through understanding can we progress, can we become better. I want to give the world that chance. I hope you do too.”

Liang sat down, lowering her gaze. It wasn’t the speech she had planned, the calm, level-headed conclusion. But Liang was surprised to find that it was all true, that she believed in her words more than she had realized. She wasn’t thinking just for the greater good, she also wanted the chance herself. The chance to love them, to understand.  
As the jury deliberated, Liang hardly took her eyes off 6 and 7. They sat close together 7’s gaze rarely straying from his own lap or 6’s face. 6 spoke at first, nudging 7 to point things out, trying his best for a smile, but after the first hour passed, he stopped, instead holding 7’s hand in silence. Liang couldn’t bring herself to talk to them, couldn’t bring herself to comfort them. The trial was over so giving them hope now would be pointless, and, if the jury ruled against them, cruel. So instead she watched.   
After a while, Grace took her hand and Liang held it tightly. 

“Is this what it’s been like for you? All the time?”

“What do you mean?”

“Caring about them.” Pavia’s eyes widened slightly. “Has it hurt like this all the time?”

“It hasn’t been easy.”

“They aren’t our children. That should make it easier, but it doesn’t.”

“They will be.” Pavia’s jaw was set. “If there’s any sort of justice in the world.” Liang felt her stomach churn slightly. Because, suddenly there was so much more at stake. Pavia couldn’t lose her hope, her blind, stupid, beautiful faith in the world. Liang met Pavia’s gaze, her eyes searching Pavia's. They were not as young as they once were. Liang had watched as years in the police force, dealing with the very dregs of humanity had tried Pavia’s optimism, but it had never failed. If 6 and 7 were institutionalized, it could destroy her. Liang wasn’t ready to watch her wife become bitter.

But as she observed the boys, sitting in miserable silence, isolated solidarity, it became clear that Pavia might not be the only one devastated by their conviction. The trial was over, no more distance now, and Liang could see clearly that her motives were far more selfish than she had imagined. All the arguments, the reasoning she had spent the last month developing now took second place to a much more basic and immediate desire.

_I want to take them home. I want to see them safe and unafraid._ Liang could hardly consider the alternative: watching them escorted to the cells that would hold them for the night before they would be transported to whatever horrible institution was decided upon. 

Instead, she watched them, her hand wrapped around her wife’s. Bleak as it was, if 6 and 7 were convicted, this might be the happiest they would ever be.  
After almost four hours, the court reconvened for the verdict. As the jurors returned to their seats, Liang released her wife’s hand. If things went badly, she needed to keep herself as detached as possible, to at least maintain an appearance of professional indifference. 

“After three hours and forty-seven minutes of deliberation, the jury has reached a verdict. Although the existence of the defendants is an indirect violation of the Ban on Genetic Drugs and Testing, the jury has ruled to make an exception, considering the sentient nature of the defendants, a situation never before faced in the history of the GenetiBan. Both defendants have been acquitted of the charges laid against them as products of an illegal genetic experiment. As to the charges of cyber-violence, the jury has considered the extenuating circumstances of age, ignorance, upbringing, and psychological turmoil and manipulation. In light of these circumstances, the defendants have been cleared of all charges against them.”

The judge’s speech was not over, but Liang had stopped listening, she looked over to Pavia to find her eyes shining, mouth hanging slightly open from the shock of release. Court was dismissed, and Liang forced her legs to move, to carry her out of the courtroom, away from so many watching eyes. She was being unprofessional she knew, there were hands she should have shaken, formal thanks to be given, but it felt wrong, unnatural, to smile and chat as though this was just another case. 

The hallway outside was empty, and Liang collapsed onto one of the benches along the wall, staring at her lap, her breaths coming fast. Her life was changed forever. Liang felt her world shift, but she did not fight it.

A hand found hers, warm and familiar and steady, and Liang looked up to see her wife’s face, wrinkled slightly with worry.

“Is something wrong? You left so suddenly.” Liang shook her head without hesitation. And then she saw them, standing just behind Grace, their young faces strangely reserved. And she reached out to them, gathered her sons into her embrace and held them close. So close she could feel their slim shoulders shaking, their hearts beating with hers. 


	45. Good

Pavia tried to dismiss the heavy feeling that slowly grew as she walked through the halls of the Central Planetary Prison. The past weeks had been, well, not easy, but good. Pavia had wanted to go on maternity leave, to take her sons away from the city for a while, but the police force was busy tracking down dealers in the illegal genetic drug market and 7’s doctor had advised against it, concerned about overloading him with new experiences and eager to start growth stimulation therapy on his legs. So Pavia made do. She spent all her time off with her children, taking them to appointments, showing them around the city. Slowly, they started to lose their pale sickly complexions, stopped tensing up when people stared at them. 

If it weren’t for the nightmares, she would have thought it too good to be true. Every psychologist she spoke to said that they were normal, but to Pavia they were a reminder of everything she wanted to forget. It terrified her at first, when she heard 7’s screams piercing the walls between them. A million terrible possibilities flashed through her head: an intruder, an injury, a fire. She burst into 6 and 7’s room, not bothering to knock, and relief washed over her as she saw them safe on 7’s bed, 6 wrapping his arm around a still sobbing 7. She knew 6 had nightmares too, but it had taken a few weeks to notice the signs. Every now and then, 6 and 7 would emerge from their room late, 6, puffy-eyed and subdued, and 7 oddly gentle. But neither of them spoke of it, neither of them came to their parents’ room like Pavia had done when she was a child. _There was nothing in my dreams that my parents couldn’t face, couldn’t understand._ Pavia accepted it, understood their inability to trust her in that way, but it still hurt to know that there was a part of her sons that she would never quite reach. 

Perhaps that was why it felt so odd to be standing in front of Levitsky’s cell, facing the part of her sons’ lives that separated her from them. He was an embodiment of all that she feared, a reminder that her family would never be simple.

Pavia entered her code and the wall in front of her became transparent, revealing Levitsky sitting on his bed. He didn’t bother to look up, speaking to the floor between his knees.

“Are you here to gloat?” Levitsky asked her, a touch of bitterness in his tone despite the amusement on his face.

“I’m here to thank you.” Levitsky raised his eyebrows.

“What for?” There was genuine confusion in his voice

“For your help in the case, for agreeing to testify in their defense.” When Levitsky spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft.

“I did not do so for you.” He looked almost wistful as he spoke, but it was gone for a moment. And as he continued his tone was familiarly biting. “Keep your thanks to yourself.” Pavia ignored him.

“I also wanted to thank you for what you did for 7. For finding him, saving his life.”

“There is nothing to thank me for. I got what I wanted.”

“You killed for him. Even for a good cause, I know the toll that can take.”

“Have you forgotten?” Levitsky smiled bitterly. “I’m a convicted murderer.”

“Not with your own hands.”

“Yes.” He said thoughtfully. “I always thought killing would be more difficult in person.”

“What do you mean?”

“People always describe it as some sort of life-altering event, a turning point. They say the image of it will never leave your dreams. But I never believed it. I saw Payne’s body fall, watched his skull bleed, and I have not seen it since. But the others, all the bodies I never saw. I see those every night.” 

“So you don’t regret it?”

“Would you? If someone had a gun to 946’s head, would you hesitate to end their life?” Pavia frowned. She had not overlooked his substitution in the scenario. 946 for 947.

“I’m not blind.” Levitsky continued, noting her reaction. “You love him. 946 has always had that effect. I’ve fired more than one teacher on his behalf.”

“Why? What happened?”

“They grew fond of him, began to see him as a child rather than an experiment. It distracted them, made them lose control.”

“But not you?”

“No. I was…preoccupied.”

“Are you trying to insinuate that 6 was manipulating them somehow.” Levitsky laughed.

“No, no. I’m afraid he’s as angelic as he seems. And it’s only natural for you to love him. You’re drawn to the utopic goodness that 6 represents. You believe he is good because you want, you need everything to be as good as it seems.”

“And you’re not drawn to that?”

“To what?”

“Goodness.”

“Of course I am. I’m drawn to 7 because I have to believe that he is good too. That a person can be flawed and desperate and still find a way to heal. Perhaps we are both naive, but I hope not.” Pavia didn’t know how to respond. She lowered her gaze uncomfortably for a long moment. “It’s been nearly two months since the trial. Why did you come to me now?” Pavia had a long list of reasons. The police force had its hands full tracking down dealers in the illegal genetic drug market, more importantly she was a mother now, trying to raise to boys who were both oddly independent and dependent at the same time. But it would serve no purpose to give Levitsky excuses.

“I’ve been doing some research. Looking into the history of cultural preservationist communities.” Levitsky’s gaze sharpened.

“That information should’ve been classified.”

“I had help.” 

“I see. And what…what did you find?”

“An old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Levitsky alive and well in Kasimov.” Levitsky didn’t respond, guilt and relief warring on his face. “How old were you when you left?”

“Sixteen.” Levitsky’s voice was barely audible.

“I know they don’t accept casual messages, but if it were official, if it came from me, they would have to read it.” Levitsky’s face hardened.

“This is none of your business.”

“Dr. Levitsky, I’ve only known my sons for a few months, but if they ever left me like that-”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen them for twenty-eight years. Do you think I did so out of laziness? I was trying to be kind. To be selfless for once. Do you think it would be a relief for them to see me now, to hear what I have made of my life? Do not taint their memories with the truth.” Levitsky paused, his gaze lowered to the ground. “If you want to help me, don’t waste your time in Kasimov.”

“Fine.” Pavia pursed her lips. “What is it you want then?”

“I want to see 7.” Something fierce and fiery rose in Pavia’s chest. 

“Do you have any idea what that could do to him? He’s supposed to be moving on, making new life.”

“And you think he should just forget then. You think he will simply forget the past eight years of his life.”

“Of course not. But I see no reason why he shouldn’t forget you.” Levitsky flinched slightly, but quickly recovered. When he spoke his tone was icy.

“You came here to thank me. Was I mistaken in taking that as some form of respect?”

“My feelings are my own. This is my family.”

“Just ask him. Tell him I want to talk to him.”

“Why would he agree? The last time you talked to him he ran away screaming. Why would he put himself through that again.”

“Please.” Levitsky’s voice was wavering.

“I can’t.”

“We can speak plainly now, can we not? As one parent to another.” Pavia’s jaw tightened. But she saw his pleading expression, free for once of the pride and coldness she was used to. “Put yourself in my place. Incarcerated, a life of nothingness ahead of you. I have no one else. He is everything.” Against her will, Pavia felt her resolve shattering, the firmness of her expression failing. 

“Yes.” She breathed, not entirely sure what question she was answering. 

“You’ll ask him?” Pavia swallowed, clearing her throat slightly. When she spoke her voice was firm, decided.

“Yes.” 


	46. Home

Pavia was hiding something. 6 knew it almost as soon as his mother walked through the door. The way she hesitated at the entrance, greeting 6 with a too-wide smile when he came to meet her. The way her face seemed to tighten when she looked at 7, sitting in the living room. Some things were the same every day. The tutor came to teach 6 and 7, catching them up on the areas in which their education had been lacking while their parents worked. 6 and 7 walked to the clinic where 7 had his physical therapy. And an hour after they came home, their parents would arrive. Then dinner. Always dinner together. That’s how families do it, said Pavia. 6 had learned many things, history, politics, literature, but the most important thing to learn was his mothers. He knew how to tell when Pavia had had a difficult day, when Liang was struggling on a case. He could see when they wanted to be alone and when they didn’t. 7 never saw. People were hard for 7, so 6 learned them instead.

But today was different. 6 had seen his mother worried, upset, angry, but she had never come home like this, had never tried to hide anything from him. 6 didn’t like it. But he couldn’t ask Pavia about it here. She was too wary around 7; there was something she didn’t want him to know. 6 felt a familiar anger, a frustration rising in him. Why wouldn’t adults ever trust them? But he stopped the anger before it grew any stronger. _Mother isn’t like that. She doesn’t lie, doesn’t try to manipulate us like Payne, like Levitsky._

As Pavia walked up the stairs to her bedroom, 6 followed, chattering innocuously about his day to avoid arousing 7’s suspicion, but as soon as they were out of 7’s earshot, he dropped his casual tone, facing his mother directly.

“What happened today?” His voice left no room for careful denials. He saw Pavia’s face drop immediately, her shakily held facade falling away.

“You don’t need to worry about it 6.”

“But it’s something about 7. I know it is.” Pavia pursed her lips.

“7’s fine. He’s not in any danger.”

“But you’re hiding something from him.” Pavia couldn’t deny it. “What happened?” 6 was almost begging.

“It’s complicated. I can’t tell him yet.”

“But you will tell him?” Pavia nodded, but 6 wasn’t done. “7 deserves to know. He’s been told enough lies. We both have.” 6 stared at her, his face set stubbornly, and his mother’s face softened. It was a look 6 was used to. He saw it often, whenever she watched 7 struggle up the staircase, whenever Pavia came to his room at night to find 7 shaking in 6’s arms. 

Pavia embraced him, holding him tightly, and when she let go, she held him at arms length, looking directly into his eyes. 

“I will never lie to you,” she said. She didn’t say ‘I promise’, but it was a promise all the same. And 6 let himself believe it.

That night, his sleep was full of dreams, but 6 couldn’t remember them. He was used to fear in the night, guilt and fear and helplessness. That night there were no tears, no strange, gentle 7 shaking him out of the dark. Instead he woke himself, silent, his heart pounding with a worry he couldn’t place. The next day, 6 was in a daze. He went through his lessons as usual, walked with 7 to his physical therapy and back. Dodging 7’s increasingly concerned questions about his wellbeing. “I’m just tired,” 6 told him. “I didn’t sleep well.” But 7 didn’t believe him, and 6 had to admit that, while 7 wasn’t good at learning people, he had learned 6. 

As soon as they got home, 6 made straight for his bed, but 7 followed him. 

“What’s wrong, 6?” 6’s heart sank. The voice that had been growing more emotional all day was suddenly empty expressionless. 6 knew well what that meant. The only reason 7 would conceal his emotions was if they were intense. So intense that they would worry 6. 

6 felt tears stinging his eyes, and he blinked them away. He wrapped his arms around his brother, his grip tightening with a sudden anger. _How could she do this. How could she make me lie to 7_. He let 7 go, and was relieved to find the mask was gone from his face, replaced by confusion and worry. 

“I need to sleep. I’ll be better when I’ve rested.” 7 nodded and 6 gave him a reassuring smile, with 7 returned. And as 6 drifted off to sleep, it was 7’s face that lingered.  
6 woke, disoriented, to the late evening light slanting through the window. He heard footsteps in the living room, but not the thud of 7’s crutches. One of his mothers was home. He stumbled out of his and 7’s room, still half asleep, rubbing at his bleary eyes. But as soon as he stepped into the living room, he was jolted back into alertness by the sight of the syringe in Liang’s hand. 

No. His mind struggled to understand. I can’t watch it. It didn’t make sense. Liang wouldn’t hurt 7. It can’t happen again. 6’s brain didn’t allow any further discussion. His eyes found 7, huddled in a chair in the corner of the room, his face completely blank. He half ran to Liang, clamping his hand around her wrist. 

“What are you doing?” He hissed. Liang looked down at him.

“It’s just a vaccination. Remember the vaccinations you had to get at the clinic?” Liang’s voice was slow, placating. 

“You don’t understand. 7 can’t stand needles. You don’t…what they did…it was…” 6’s voice stopped and started, halting and catching as he tried to express the horrors 7 had told him about. The needle bed, Payne’s lab.

6 waited for Liang to smile, to pat him on the back and tell him everything would be fine. But she didn’t. Her brow furrowed in concentration.

“I know.” She told him. “That’s why I’m giving it to him here, in his home, where he’ll feel safest.” 6 paused. His racing heart told him to keep arguing, mistrusting, to place himself between Liang and 7, to take 7 with him and run, escape. But where would he go? This was home. And Liang was right. 7 might be afraid, but not as afraid as he would be in a hospital, where his surroundings would offer nothing to contradict the images of the past. 

“Ok.” 6 whispered.

“I want him to feel safe too.” It was just a statement, but 6 could tell how well she had understood his thoughts. Had heard the parts of himself that he didn’t even admit to, the parts that didn’t trust her, that didn’t believe she loved 7 as he did. 6 was ashamed. He nodded. 

“I want to help.” 

“Of course.” She smiled then. And 6 knew that she understood him. That she knew his thoughts and did not hate him. “I have to be the one to administer it, but I’m sure 7 would appreciate your presence.”

They worked together. Leading a still unresponsive 7 to the couch, where 6 settled next to him, talking quietly to him until he began to return, his eyes sharpening, his face slowing emerging. When 7 told Liang he was ready, she slowly gave the first of four vaccinations. 

“Take as much time as you need.” Mother told him. “We can do the next one now, or in ten minutes, or ten days.” 7 didn’t need ten days. As soon as the next shot was ready, so was he. 6 beamed with pride. 

He held 7’s hand throughout the rest of the shots, speaking softly to 7 to keep him in the present. “Home.” 6 reminded him constantly. “We are home.” And it was true.


	47. On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. The final chapter.

When 7 left the hospital, he saw Pavia’s car waiting in the lot. On most days he made the five minute walk home with 6, who insisted on coming with him to every physical therapy session, but today, something was different. Pavia rose from her seat outside the entrance, giving 6 and 7 each a brief hug. 

“7 took his first step today.” 6 said proudly, knowing 7 wouldn’t mention it himself. “The doctors said his growth stimulation is going well.”

“That’s wonderful news.” Pavia smiled, but 6 seemed to sense something. He gave her a look, and Pavia nodded. Almost as if agreeing to something. Giving in. “I came here because I have to tell you something, 7.” Pavia took a deep breath.

“Levitsky has asked to speak with you, 7.” 6 frowned, his expression turning immediately suspicious. Whatever he expected Pavia to say, it wasn’t that. “I told him I would ask you.” 7 didn’t reply. Pavia watched him anxiously. “You don’t need to think about it now.”

7 bit his lip. As they drove home, 7 tried to follow Pavia’s advice, but he couldn’t shake the dull memory. The strange sounds, words of another world, as Levitsky held him, as the ringing from Payne’s death faded. 7 shook himself, turning off everything but his hearing as he tried to focus on 6 and Pavia’s conversation. It didn’t work. The strange sounds played over and over in his head, insistent but intangible. They were mystical, almost dreamlike. 

They sat down for dinner together as soon as Liang came home from work, 6 and 7 swallowing their supplemental vitamins before they ate. In a brief lull in the conversation, 7 spoke up.

“I want to visit him.” Liang and Pavia exchanged glances. 

“You understand that you don’t have to, right?” Liang asked him carefully. She was always careful. “Nothing bad will happen if you don’t.” 7 only nodded.

“I’m not done with him.” 7 could see the worry on Pavia’s face, but she said nothing. Made no comment. 6 was frowning, confused, maybe even angry. But 7’s mind was made up.

Two days later, 7 walked down the halls of the Central Planetary Prison, accompanied by two guards. When they reached Levitsky’s cell, guards hesitated.

“Do you want anyone to stay with you? Or maybe a chair?” The woman gestured awkwardly to 7’s crutches. 

“No. I’ll be fine.” The guards exchanged a look and one went to the wall, entering a code. The wall became transparent. Levitsky sat on his bed, facing 7, his hands gripping his knees tightly. But that was not what caught 7’s attention. He looked different than he had in court. Something wild and desperate in his eyes that made 7 nervous. 

When he looked up, saw 7 standing outside his cell, he shifted, jolting in a way that was oddly familiar. 

“7.” It wasn't a question, so 7 didn’t answer. “It is good to see you.” Levitsky’s face softened for a moment, but he checked himself quickly. And 7 knew when he recognized it from. It was same look Pavia got when she wanted to hug him, but stopped herself. Again, 7 didn’t respond. He couldn't reciprocate the feeling, so he said nothing. Levitsky was restless in the silence, struggling for something to say. “You look different.” Levitsky paused. “Your plaque is gone.” 7 nodded. The skin on his forearm was still tight with scar tissue. “Why did you agree to see me?”

“The first time I was attacked in the lab, when I was thrown down the stairs, I tried to crawl up but I passed out. When I woke, I was at the top of the stairs.” 

“Yes.”

“You carried me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to help.” 

“It was stupid.” To 7’s surprise, Levitsky was not angry. He only chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“As stupid as stealing from Payne’s lab?” 7 frowned. He quickly changed the subject.

“Pavia told me about where you grew up. She told me why your speech is distorted.” 

“I grew up speaking a non-standard language. Russian, it was called.”

“You still speak it. I heard you speaking to me, after you shot Payne.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you still speak it? What purpose does it serve?”

“None really. I know no one who speaks it any more. It functions no better than Standard. But it is different to me. Russian is the language of my heart, the language I speak with my family, with those I love.” 7 felt strangely heavy. The meaning of Levitsky’s statement was not lost on him. But 7 felt no desire to run away. 

“If you had a family, why did you leave?”

“I was not as wise as you, 7. I put myself before them.” Levitsky’s voice was sour. “But that is every parent’s greatest wish, is it not: a child that surpasses them. Already you have surpassed me in so many ways. I am glad of it.”

“You’re not my father.” 7 gritted his teeth, prepared for another desperate declaration of affection. But Levitsky remained calm.

“No,” he responded evenly. “Just as Pavia and Liang are not your mothers.” 

“They are good to me. They’ve helped me.”

“I know. And I’m glad of it. May I ask one thing of you?” 7 didn’t respond. Levitsky looked slightly discouraged, but he continued. “I know I am not your father, but you are my son.” 7 could hear blood in his ears. “Will you come back?” 7 felt the familiar burning in his stomach, fury crawling into his throat. But the voice in his head was not Levitsky’s, but 6’s.

 _You are family to him, but he is not family to you_.

7 had never been in prison, but he knew what it was like to be trapped. Tied down, with nothing to do, nothing to think about but the pressing. 7 shuddered as he remembered the bed. Everything that made him 7 was gone: his mind, his body, his control. They took everything and left him only loneliness. 7 would have done anything to see 6. Even if he couldn’t touch him, even if they could never really be together.

6 wouldn’t like it, 7 was sure, and he would be right. 7 owed Levitsky nothing. But there was more than that. 7 couldn’t come up with any sort of reason to help him, but he knew he wanted to. 

“Next month.” Levitsky was speechless. He rose from his bed silently, mouth open, and walked forward slowly like a man in a trance. When he reached the glass, he fell to his knees, staring up at 7 with eyes wide in awe. Levitsky’s lips began to move, but still he made no sound, and it took 7 a minute to realize that he was repeating one word, over and over. 7 looked down at him, hands tight around his crutches, a strange tightness in his throat. Not until he returned home, until he searched the world net for a Russian dictionary did he understand that it meant “thank you.” 

The next day, 7 found himself on the net again searching for more resources, guides to pronunciation, the Cyrillic alphabet. They were surprisingly scarce. Since his tutor had introduced him to the world net, he had found there was little information that could not be found, yet, whether by deliberate suppression or a more natural obsolescence there was little to be found on the Russian language, barely enough to attain a working knowledge. Still 7 puzzled over the dictionary, his lips struggling silently to create the sounds that lingered still in his memory. 

“I don't understand.” 7’s eyes snapped up from the page. 6 was standing in front of him.

“What?”

“You didn’t say anything when you came back yesterday, and now this.” 6’s voice was hard, but 7 knew he wasn’t angry. His eyes were open, wide and worried, so 7 was not afraid.

“You don’t need to be scared.” 6’s eyes narrowed and he paused, changing his angle.

“You’re going back aren’t you. Is that why you’re learning Russian?” There was no point in hiding it from 6, even if 7 had wanted to. He nodded silently. “Did he offer you some kind of information? Did he threaten you?”

“When have I ever let someone threaten me into doing something? Even Payne understood that; he knew better than to waste time trying to push me around. 935 already tried.”

“Okay, so he didn’t threaten you. I still don’t understand.” 6 was angry now, but 7 didn’t know why. 7’s answers were frustrating him, yet he couldn’t seem to ask the question that was really weighing on him. 

“You don’t have to be angry.” Immediately the anger seemed to drain away. 6 sat down on the table in front of 7. 

“I’m sorry, 7. It’s just, I’ve been thinking a lot. History and literature and politics are interesting enough, but still, I’ve had a lot of time. I think about him sometimes, all the lies, the things he let happen. But I always go back to that day. The last test results. He heard the alarm, and then he had a choice.” 6 shifted, wringing his hands. “He sent us to die. You and me and twenty-three other people. I know there was a protocol; he couldn’t just cancel it and save everyone. But he could’ve saved us, couldn’t he?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, he didn’t believe it would work. Maybe he thought security would notice if too many people diverged from the emergency plan. Maybe I could have saved them too, if I had told everyone to come with me.”

“Are you trying to defend him?” 6’s voice said that ‘yes’ was not an answer he would hear. 

“I’m just saying we all had choices. He chose to follow protocol. I chose to take you with me, and no one else. You chose to trust me, and then on the ladder, to not give up on me.” 6’s face softened a bit.

“I’ve thought about that too.” His gaze wandered, oddly distant. “About why I chose the way I did. But I think, it wasn’t really a choice. I remember feeling trapped, as though if I had gotten out alone, without you, I wouldn’t really have gotten out. I would’ve been stuck forever in that moment.” 7 smiled. Because the feeling that had confused him so much on the ladder now made sense. Immediately, he thought of syringe cases through a window, alarms blaring in his ears. And he remembered the choice he made without choosing, simply because he knew it was the only way he would ever escape, even if it meant being caught.

“Levitsky isn’t family. But I want to see him.” 6 stared at him for a moment, serious but not worried. Then he nodded, slow and sure. 7 felt something inside of him release, like a breath held for too long. 

The silence was broken by a pattering sound on the roof, soft at first but growing steadily louder and more insistent. 6 look confused for a moment before glancing out the window.

“It’s raining, 7!” he declared, like he had just discovered the secret of life. 

“Yes.”

“It only rains once or twice a year in the city.” 7 frowned. That was true of course. Pavia had explained the meteorological controls of earth, how most storms were kept away from major cities, distributing their rain to farmlands where it would do good rather than harm. But 7 wasn’t sure what the significance of that was.

“What do you want to do?”

“Go out.” 7 frowned, confused. Neither of them had seen rain before, but 7 had gotten the impression that people viewed it as an inconvenience.

“I thought people stayed in during the rain.” 6’s face fell a little, and 7 immediately regretted saying anything.

“It isn’t dangerous is it?” 7 wracked his brains, calling up everything he had learned about meteorological activity. Of all the forms of precipitation, rain was the most harmless. As long as there were no strong winds or flooding, the risk was inconsequential. 

“We need coats.” 7 said, and 6 grinned. Pavia and Liang weren’t home yet, so 6 and 7 found the coats themselves, rummaging through the closets until they found two very large water-proof jackets. 7 sat down, placing his crutches to one side so he could pull his arms through the sleeves. 

They didn’t go far, not straying beyond the small strip of grass that separated their house from the street. Pavia and Liang didn’t like them wandering the city. But it was probably for the best. 7 had to walk slowly, placing his crutches carefully to make sure he didn't slip. 6 was hesitant at first, carefully pushing back his over-sized sleeve to feel the raindrops on his hand, but after a moment, it seemed to meet his approval and he smiled, pulling his hood from over his head to let the rain hit his face.

7 watched silently. The streets were empty, no one went outside without a vehicle in this weather. When he looked up, the sky was dark, clouds covering the brightness, hanging over them. 

“I read that you can get sick from standing in the rain.” 6 only laughed.

“Not after all the vaccinations we’ve had,” he paused. “Are you alright?” 7 smiled.

“Yes.” 

“Take your hood off.” 6 grinned at 7’s reluctance. “Trust me.” 7 leaned on one crutch, lifting his other hand to his head to pull the hood back. Instinctively, he switched off his sensory input, shying away from the pricks of cold on his face. Off. 

But 6 didn’t seem to mind. He stood, his arms out, face raised, as though trying to feel as much of it as possible. Water poured down his head, running down in little streams down his cheeks, the back of his neck. 6 was happy. So though it was strange, it couldn’t be bad. Nothing that made 6 happy could be bad.

Gradually 7 let himself feel it, the warmth wrapped around his arms, his chest. Then, the soft impact of raindrops on his face. 7 laughed as they tickled him, running down his neck and wetting his shirt. He blinked them out of his eyes, feeling them pour down his face like tears. They were cold, like ice on his face, but his mother’s coat was warm. So 7 turned the feeling on. Turned the cold on. 7 gasped at the shock of it, the strangeness of being warm and cold, wet and dry, but when he saw 6 smiling up at the storm, he couldn’t help but smile too. He went to his switchboard, not bothering to make careful selections.

On. Everything on.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment to let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!


End file.
